


MidSummer's Eve

by jenna_thorn



Category: Angel: the Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-04
Updated: 2009-04-04
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7651159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna_thorn/pseuds/jenna_thorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>to dance in a fairy ring</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Rescue:

 

Gunn stopped by the warehouse door and glanced to his right. Wes shifted his feet on the other side of the door and made eye contact for a moment. "We aren't five minutes behind them, English. She's fine. Besides, who's he going to sell a corpse to? Wait, don't answer that." A tightlipped nod was his only response before they heard shouting from the other side of the door. That should be the Soul Man drawing off the so-called muscle, the remnants of two biker gangs turned by the slaver's henchvamp. With luck, they wouldn't leave guards on their side of the warehouse. Then again, the way his luck had been running, maybe he'd better go in swinging. Gunn kicked the door in and it slammed against a soft body on the other side, forcing them to push past the shivering door and slumped figure to get into the building proper. Gunn shifted the double-bladed axe into a swinging grip before stepping into the warehouse and taking a look around. Half lit big open space and a lot of boxes over to the right. Check, pretty much what he'd expected. Big wooden pallets with big wooden crates and cheap kitsch crap just begging to get broken. Angel was the center of a whirlwind of violence, with more leather-clad vamps streaming toward him through stacked pallets. 

 

More importantly, the corner they'd entered at was nearest the office. Nice to know that sometimes Wes's logic worked out. Logic or wild ass guess, didn't really matter to him. The light from the office window shone on Cordelia's white blouse where she was wiggling on a pile of mattresses among a handful of bodies. The mattresses were piled by the office door, probably the library of the mage they were tracking, but that was Wes' worry, just as the vamp gang guards were Angel's. He was hostage guy. It was a simple plan, but pretty much all they'd had time for after the guy had gone for Cordy at Starbucks instead of Fred at La Madeleine. 

 

Gunn loped toward her, but realized that her wriggling was not an attempt at freedom but an effort to point. A glance to the side let him spot two vamps closing in on him and Wesley dancing with a third. He dropped to the ground, feet under shoulders and swept his left foot behind himself and around to the side. The move worked as well as it did when Jackie Chan did it, and he grinned at the splayed form on the concrete floor as he pushed off with one hand, using the other to guide the axe. It landed with a solid thunk into the chest of the vamp coming up behind him, which was disappointing, but gave him time to backpedal out of immediate reach. The one on the ground got a swift kick to the face and he followed through to step to the side, allowing the heavy axe to swing like a baseball bat around him. Both hands on the haft this time, and the axe silently separated head from shoulders. Gunn swept it around in enough of an arc to redirect the blade downward and take the prone vamp's head before the dust from the first had hit the ground. 

 

Wesley passed him with a cry, "Cordelia's having convulsions." Sparing only a quick apologetic glance at Angel, who was still horribly outnumbered but now fighting in a swirl of dust, Gunn followed Wes at a dead run toward the pile of bodies. They were still a good ten feet away when Gunn felt his legs stop, everything locked up, just froze, like he'd been embedded in glass, without even skidding on the concrete floor. He was behind Wes enough to see that he had one foot off the ground and there was simply no way that he couldn't fall. Which meant that they'd been right about the mage being part of the group. They'd just been wrong about his current location. Wes had hoped to lay a trap and instead they'd sprung one. 

 

Sitting in the hotel listening to Wesley and Fred describe this spell was a hell of a lot different from having it put on him, but he knew better than to try to struggle. Nothing hurt, he just couldn't move. He could breathe, could feel his heart beat, could see the tendons in Wes' neck jump, could even see that what they'd taken for convulsions had in fact been Cordy gyrating on the pile of bodies in order to yank her bound hands under equally bound feet so her wrists were at least in front of her. With the amount of duct tape around her wrists and over her mouth, he didn't see how she was going to be able to help them against the figure calmly opening the office door. Gunn wasted a half second wishing Fred were here, calculator in one hand, screwdriver in the other, then gave silent thanks that she was cooling her heels at the hotel. She'd proven her ability to survive, he knew. He just didn't want her to have to prove it again. Though he'd put her smarts up against this guy's brawn anyway. Why did every other mage wind up being big and scary with his books and in life, some skinny-ass white guy with Wal-Mart church robes? Okay, this guy's robe had a hood, and Wal-Mart probably didn't go for that, but still, just another scrawny middle class fucker with an attitude. Though, he had to admit, WhiteBoy's skinny ass had the spell to keep his Shaft self bound nicely.

 

As he walked toward them, the mage pulled his hood back and sneered at Wesley. "Thank you so much for joining us, but really, I don't need any more lackeys. I have all I need right here." He swung his arms forward to encompass both the fighters and the Cordy-crowned pile. 

 

The bonds holding Gunn motionless were released so quickly that he fell flat out on his stomach, axe under him. Wesley was better prepared and merely dropped to one knee. "No, in fact you don't have enough. You don't have any. Gunn, the people can wait. Help Angel; we'll finish this now." His eyes never left the arrogant face of the mage before him. "We've taken out most of your guard already, and you will have nothing left to sell to your buyers by the time we walk away." 

 

Gunn ground his teeth. Even a ten word plan couldn't go right. So much for hostage guy, he thought as he ran through and sometimes over clusters of debris, piles of wood and sawdust and broken cheap ceramic. None of it was stacked high, just enough to be an obstacle, and as he ran he tried to see everywhere at once, Angel in front of him or a glance back over his shoulder to see Wesley and the robed mage playing Darth Vader and the Emperor. Both had electricity wrapped around their hands and were either fighting on some mental level or just having an old fashioned staring contest. He had a suspicion that a lot of the mystic mumbo-jumbo was all bullshit anyway. Wes could keep his talismans and books. He could just break a broomstick in half and be ready to party. Much better.

 

As big as the warehouse had seemed when they'd broken in, it was mostly open space. Gunn skirted two pallets and vaulted a broken container, skidding to a stop just outside the ring of biker vamps that had surrounded Angel. He shifted to his left, kicking packing straw off his tennis shoes. Enough time spent in hand to hand and he'd learned hard the value of solid footing. Angel was down to less than a dozen opponents, but he was shaking, left arm held tight against his ribs, a broken plank from a pallet in his right hand. The dust swirled in counterpoint to shuffling feet as various leather jacketed vampires circled him waiting for someone to initiate another charge on the outnumbered vampire. Gunn broke the tableau, staking one from behind before they realized he was there. He tossed the axe to Angel and dropped his hands to his thighs. 'Gotta love cargo pants' he thought. Each pocket held a pair of acrylic Christmas balls filled with holy water and sealed with waxed canvas. They'd been calling them Holy Hand Grenades to Wes' delight. He tossed one into the air high, slammed the other into the face of the vamp to his left, caught the airborne one and snapped a fastball into the chest of a vamp who was paying more attention to Angel than to him. Must have thought herself out of reach. Now she was smoking slightly and pissed off. He tossed one of his remaining pair into the air and caught it with his free hand. They were down to six and four were concentrating on Angel. He feinted left, then lunged right to shove the ball in his right hand into the pissed biker chick vamp. He spun back, shaking his arm to let the stake in his jacket sleeve fall into his hand. He dodged a roundhouse that had been telegraphed in from somewhere in Kansas, stepped inside the guy's range and punched the stake home. Blowing dust out of his nose and pocketing the remaining grenade, he delivered a coup de grace on the writhing chick on the floor. Angel had one opponent bent backwards over one of the few unbroken crates in the warehouse, but couldn't do anything useful as he had a chokehold on another, dangling his boots a few inches above the concrete. "I gotta do everything around here." Gunn grinned as he staked the unfortunate on the crate, freeing Angel to slam the other into a broken pallet.

 

Gunn pulled the axe from a support beam while Angel found his sword under a pile of excelsior and broken cheap pottery. The crackling of lighting behind them gave way to a series of explosions. Wesley and the mage were surrounded by a shimmering light so bright that the rest of the warehouse was dark shadow. Gunn couldn't even see the office light as another flare from the combatants lit up and burned afterimages into his eyes. Abruptly, the light show stopped, and Wes dropped bonelessly to the concrete. Angel sprinted toward them, too far, too late. The mage pulled a black cloud from the air around them and crumpled to the ground. Over his body, Cordelia stood, crowbar in one hand and a bracelet of duct tape dangling around the other.


	2. Prince of the Realm:

Halfway through, they'd gotten the system down. Wes'd do his mojo-jojo, a lot of arm waving and some language with too many consonants and hisses. Cordy and Angel would calm the victim down and they'd send anybody injured over to him for impromptu first aid. They'd woken up eight people but two of them hadn't come back and had to be laid out nearby but out of direct sight. Every one of the others had come out of it screaming and swinging. 

 

He snickered and bent over the nasty but shallow cut on the arm in front of him. "I have absolutely no interest in knowing what being mostly dead is like. Especially if the cure involves English and a dusty book instead of a chocolate coating." The overdressed guy with the slashed arm looked at him blankly. "Come on. Even Angel would have gotten that one. Oh hell, never mind. That'll keep it together, but it's dirty. You don't want infection, you need a doctor."

 

"A … healer?" The reply was slow, too slow to be purely a translation problem.

 

"Yeah, as in Get thee unto a hospital, pronto." This was one of the fancy dress guys, the ones that matched the guy currently hovering near Cordy. What kind of idiot ran around LA wearing a sword and a jacket made out of church curtains and enough lace for a wedding dress? Out of a dozen supposed bodies, there had been obvious groups. A family of five Wryalth demons, who included one of the true dead. A human trio, who were slumming, looking for a wild time and got it. And Mr. Fancy Pants, with a chick and two bodyguards. Bodyguard one was bigger than Angel and was the second laid out figure. Bodyguard two was the one running his fingertips over the tape job, and looking worried as the others came up and stood directly in Gunn's light. Gunn'd had enough with the better-than-thou act that he really didn't care one way or the other about what further medical help they needed. "Angel, we getting close to done here?" Gunn shook the mostly empty bottle of hydrogen peroxide in the air, but Angel was concentrating on one of the Wryalth demons and didn't even look up. 

 

He ignored the conversation of the overdressed trio, wishing only that they'd get further away, since the colors were over vivid even in the shifting lights of the poorly- lit warehouse and the constant movement in his peripheral vision was distracting him. The smallest Wryalth sat at his feet, clutching one of the adults. "You hurt? Kiddo?" But the kid was watching them like a tourist at a premiere. The adult pulled the kid's sleeve up and Gunn whistled in dismay. He was concentrating on the burn on the kid's upper arm, and was able to block out most of the conversation above him though certain words buzzed through, 'cause face it, the word betrayal was going to break through anybody's thoughts. So he smoothed gauze carefully and tried not to listen to them talk about Hell and when he overheard the word tithe he wondered what his grandmother's minister would make of these three, singing hymns and crying Halleluah at the choir and dropping pearl buttons instead of grubby tens in the plate. Gunn patted the edge of the bandage. He was clean out of tape. They'd found the roll of duct tape, but he hated using it on skin. He could see the reddened marks around Cordy's wrists and over the lower half of her face from here. 

 

\---:::---

 

Wesley glanced over to Gunn's impromptu medical station and allowed himself a smile as Gunn patted the youngest Wryalth on the head as they left. The box that Angel made such a fuss about banging about in the boot of that ridiculous vehicle of his had proven its usefullness tonight. Though it would need restocking, he thought, as he watched Gunn toss a clearly empty antiseptic bottle over his shoulder. Angel was in conference with the three remaining victims, the ones in fanciful garb. Cordelia, radiating irritation, stomped over to him, picking at spots of off-white thread still on her wrists. "I'm gonna kick him. Kick him hard."

 

"Dare I ask who, never mind why?" Wesley asked.

 

"Fearless Leader."

 

"Ah, and from your distress may I surmise that he has refused payment for our services?" 

 

"Yep," she rubbed at her wrists "And he's turning down a job offer." She glared at Angel as he bowed out of his conversation, calling for Gunn. They arrived simultaneously.

 

"You do realize that I can hear you clearly." Angel said mildly to Cordelia.

 

"I call you fearless leader to your face; I save the nasty ones for when you aren't in the building."

 

"Pretty much," Gunn agreed as Wes simply smiled. "Though I don't think 'mosquito on steroids' is all that nasty, myself."

 

Angel rolled his eyes "I need to give an answer over there, but I wanted to talk to you first." Gunn poked Wesley in the ribs at Angel's deference and was pointedly ignored by the others. "We've been offered a case…"

 

"Paying customer? I'm for it." 

 

Angel sighed "Cordelia, please." He faced Wes and Gunn again. "It's a one night bodyguard job. Sort of…"

 

"Paying customer and you do all the work and I take a bubble bath. I'm twice for it."

 

Angel tried again, "Actually all of us would be attending the function …"

 

"Paying customer and a formal dress; I'm three times for …"

 

Finally Wesley interrupted, "Cordelia! Your vision related the slaving ring only. If Angel is hesitant, there's a reason why." She stuck her tongue out at him. "On the other hand, there's no reason to turn away potential clients. Bodyguard work isn't interesting, but we do have bills to pay ..."

 

"He's a prince of the Seelie Court."

 

Cordy and Gunn traded shrugs and Wesley looked past Angel to the three remaining freed victims standing over their prone companion. "They don't look particularly elven."

 

"Whoa, elves as in Santa Claus?" Gunn grinned.

 

"No, you goober, like Rivendell." Cordelia shot back.

 

Angel hissed, "More like Shakespeare on acid and with injury and kidnapping instead of love potions. Wes, I've run up against some members of the Court in the past." He spread his hands eloquently. "There are some things…I can't go toe to toe against everything. I sure can't do so and cover Fred. We don't need money badly enough to risk anyone." 

 

"You gone, man?" Gunn elbowed Angel. "We risk everyone, on a daily basis. Cordelia-and-Fred-as-bait ringing any bells?"

 

"Not for money," Angel repeated, "He thinks that an enemy of his aunt set him up for this, and since they got past his people, he was thinking of bringing in someone from outside."

 

Wes mused, "someone tailoring an attack to a Sidhe Prince and his retinue would not be able to anticipate our particular skills, true, but I agree. This isn't our fight, and the risk is high. Sidhe gold is tricksy."

 

"Good," Angel turned "I'm not eager to face HellLords again."

 

"Wait," Wes interrupted. "I thought this was an interspecies squabble."

 

"No, if it were, I wouldn't be as worried."

 

"Then perhaps we should get involved."

 

Gunn mimed lobbing a tennis serve into the air and Cordelia shushed him. 

"You agreed, this isn't our business."

 

"Angel, we are a force for good. We see Evil, we thwart." All of them faced him in shocked amazement. "Oh dear God, I sound like Buffy, don't I?"

 

"I was thinking Xander, myself," Cordelia added helpfully.

 

"Even more appalling, thank you. The point remains…" but Angel's gentle tap stopped any further argument. The sidhe prince had paused at a polite distance.

 

"Warrior," a regal nod encompassed them all. "We must return our compatriot to our land. Again you have my thanks and I will send a formal invitation with my aunt's gratitude." 

 

Watching the Princeling and Angel exchange courtly bows, Wesley could easily imagine how the vampire had charmed his way through the courts and parlors of Europe for a century. Cordelia and Gunn were so solidly rooted in the present that the periodic reminders of Angel's age accented his otherworldly nature. "I do believe we've been dismissed."

 

The door Gunn had kicked in was hanging off one set of hinges, so Angel carefully lifted it to the side before gesturing the others through. There was a bit of a breeze, but not quite enough to explain a teacup full of maggots tipping and shattering on the floor of the empty warehouse.


	3. The Invitation

Fred pulled her legs into the chair to sit crosslegged, the tome spread open on her lap. The disadvantage, she thought , to being so much shorter than everyone else is that there wasn't a chair in the place that allowed her to sit like an adult and still let her feet touch the floor. Perhaps that was why Cordelia always wore high heels. 

 

"Who's on what side now?" Cordy stage whispered to Gunn. 

 

"Angel for and English against" Gunn responded. At Fred's questioning look, he continued. "One'll come up with a new argument and they change sides."

 

"If the invitation shows up, they'll have to decide, won't they?" She placed a pencil to mark the spot, then remembering Wesley's last diatribe about spines on antique books, hastily replaced it with a scrap of paper.

 

"Uh, I'm thinking we might want to decide first, before any deadlines or visitors that Angel doesn't want to go a few rounds with. I'm thinking these folks don't use the Post Office." Gunn replied.

 

Cordy tossed her pen onto the desk. "Speak for yourself, I'm so bored I'm doing the crossword puzzle in the TV Guide."

 

Fred glared at her. "Aigh Cordy, are you trying to kill us? Brace for impact. Or big scary drooly things, at least."

 

"What'd I say, oh, oh crap" she bolted to her feet as a pair of shimmering lights floated in the open French doors, swooping past the tree outside and into the lobby proper. The tone of her voice more than her words caught Angel and Wesley's attention. Simultaneously, they decided that a show of strength could only benefit and pulled weapons to hand, leaving Gunn to scramble for the baseball bat they kept under the counter and Cordy to clutch her letter opener. Fred looked around and decided no weapon would ever make her look threatening enough to impress a stranger, so she just smiled nervously. 

 

"Oh please" the disembodied nasal tone of what American television considered a New Jersey accent issued forth from one of the lights "threaten us with a butterfly net and I'll wet myself laughing."

 

As usual Wes caught on first. "Ah then, we have the pleasure of meeting the emissaries of Her Majesty, the Queen of Air and Darkness?"

 

"In the flesh, well, sort of. Hang on a mo'." The greener of the two spots scintillated briefly and coalesced into what Fred's mother would have called Trailer Trash, a dumpy middle aged woman with a cigarette firmly pressed between emerald lips. A frumpy housecoat bore a floral design accented by what looked like food stains and wasn't loose enough to disguise a jiggling pot belly beneath. "Shak, get your ass down here." She gestured rudely, then put her hands on her ample hips, still facing the flickering light. "You know I really don't care whether it's Her Maj or His Hiney that you are willing to piss off, but…" She glared at the dancing light over the tops of rhinestone embedded cat's eye glasses for a moment more. "Yeah, whatever." 

 

The blue will o- the wisp silently exploded into a ball of sparkles that spiralled to the floor, coalescing into a second small human shape. This figure was much more in keeping with traditional views of the Sidhe, with a tunic in the style of fanciful recreationists of the 17th century with a froth of pale blue cobwebs for an ascot and an imperious gaze directed at the hausfrau in green. "If you must address me directly, it would be seemly to use my name." He raised one elegant eyebrow and stared the length of a roman nose at the humans before him.

 

"Yeah right, whatever, your Excellency Baron Shakarikelathess of a wood that was paved over to make the M5. Bite me." The cigarette dangled from her bright green lips, defying physics, bobbing as she spoke. "I'm here. You're here. They're here. Let's do this." She crossed her arms and blew a lungful of menthol smoke at him.

 

He chose to use the smoke as stage dressing and strode forth through it. Too late he seemed to realize that closing the distance put him nose to sternum with the mere mortals he was about to address and with great dignity he slowly floated into the air, until even Angel had to raise his head to keep eye contact. They all pretended not to notice the snicker from the woman in green behind him, though Gunn's mouth twitched. 

 

Even deliberately pitched low, his voice was reedy in the echoing lobby. "Her Imperial Majesty, the Queen of Air and Darkness has requested the pleasure of your company for the Midsummer Night Masque to honor both the joy of the season and the formal declaration of her heir His Highness Prince Karasthines of the Ruby Sea, child of the New World and scion of the wealth of the old." And he swept forward with a bow so full of flourishes that Fred barely noticed that the fey never dropped eye contact.

 

Wes caught Angel's eye and lifted a single shoulder while both pointedly ignored Cordelia's frantic waving and luminous smile. Angel responded, "A lovely invitation, beautifully worded, but I was under the impression that we were to be guests of his Highness. Has Her Majesty recognized the Prince's concern for his safety?"

 

"Your bluntness is no doubt a result of your short mortal span" The figure in blue sneered. "His Highness's safety is under no threat … nor has it ever been."

 

"Ah, no doubt simply a misunderstanding, then. When we met His Royal Highness, he had recently lost a … companion."

"His Highness tends to choose his companions with an eye toward matters other than politics or security."

 

"Present company excepted, of course." The words were accompanied by a gust of smoke and the elf in blue visibly flinched.

 

"Of course," And he gave a slight bow.

 

Angel and Wes made eye contact and glanced to the others. Fred smiled, Cordelia bounced, beaming, and Gunn shrugged. Wes shook his head in bemused resignation as Angel raised an eyebrow, then turned to the still levitating form before him. "The whole of Angel Investigations would be delighted to accept the Queen's gracious invitation."

 

"An escort has been provided." He spun, snarled "Anon" to the hausfrau who was too intent on the ash of her cigarette to respond, and swirled away in a flurry of blue sparkles.

 

She stepped forward, heaved what looked like a laptop case onto the settee, and put her hands on her hips, looking around her critically. "Right then, her Imperial Majesty the Queen of Air and Darkness has invited you to blah blah and like the morons I didn't think you were, you accepted. Since she doesn't trust you to dress appropriately, or for that matter, not to pick your noses in public, I'm here. Right now," she pulled a Palm Pilot out of the laptop case side pocket. "The suggestions are as such, you wizard, get the full cheesy Merlin treatment," she eyed him. "Velvet robes, glitter wand, stars and moons and no, I don't think so. Captain, you get the leather and straps, the Barbarian warrior schtick, hey, look, there's an axe on the wall, that might be fun, and you she wants naked and painted blue." As she circled Angel, she eyed him appreciatively. "Yeah, I can go along with that. Heh." A flurry of motion, she spun away toward the counter. "Which one of you is the seer? Right then, Oak and Ash what have you done with your hair? Okay, first ideas right out, have to give that one a moment's thought."

 

"Excuse me?" Cordelia cut in. "You are going to comment on my hair?"

 

"Yeah?" the elf propped one hip out and waved smoke away from her face.

 

"We are going to disco with the Queen of Elfland and my fashion advisor is Trailerpark Tinkerbell?"

 

The newcomer looked down and pulled the hem of her housedress ruefully. "This? Nah, this is for Shak, hang on." She shuddered and the housecoat drew in on itself, lengthening and slimming into a dress with a fitted bodice and an ankle length irregular hemline; the rips and stains disappeared, the pot belly slid away and the knots and tangles of her hair smoothed themselves into floating waves. 

 

Her smile was open now as she also dropped the atrocious accent, taking off the rhinestone glasses and folding them carefully before sliding them into the laptop case. "What? Yeah, this is actually easier, since I've been using it longer. I just do that to piss him off." She gestured with the cigarette, which now smelled significantly sweeter. "He wants to believe I'm gone heathen native; I like to give people what they want." She took a drag and smirked. "Ok, not really, I just like to yank his chain." The slimmer form seemed to speed her movements as she neared Fred. "And if she's the Seer, that makes you," Fred stood very still to keep from flinching as she was circled "the alchemist." Ignoring Cordy's rude gesture, she passed between the two of them, cocking one eyebrow. "You she wanted as a butterfly, but you know, the wings will just make it harder to navigate, so let's go with a flock kind of thing on the skirt. It'll give you a little more mobility. You can be a whole herd of butterflies."

 

"Do we get a vote?" Wesley asked.

 

"Only if you can get a word in sideways, so no, I wouldn't plan on it." She smirked and crossed back to her case.

 

Gunn put a stop to her by physically standing in the path of her constant pacing. "I don't do leather."

 

"You sure? It'd allow you to walk around and flex your pecs a lot." Her smile showed entirely too many teeth.

 

Gunn glanced surreptitiously toward Fred. "No."

 

"Okay, fine, then, pretty dresses for the ladies and standard tuxes for all of you, which means, one, you get big clumsy masks to keep with the theme of the night 'cause trust me, indirectly aggravating her is fun, could even be considered a hobby of mine, but you don't want to actively piss her Maj off and, two," She stood directly in front of Wesley and looked him in the eye. "nobody has a way to disguise weapons." She spun in a swirl of netting and cobwebs. "Up to you, I'm just the tailor. A common servant, as it were, content to follow orders."

 

"Which you've not done since you came in." Wesley interjected, and she glanced over her shoulder at him.

 

"Haven't gotten any since I came in," The look she gave him was almost challenging. "I am to dress you appropriately for a Seelie masque and escort you to the hall. Those are my orders. Considering the …unusual situation… the Seelie Court finds itself in, I have been authorized to be your liaison, guide, escort, and babysitter until Solstice. Everybody gets one; you guys just got lucky to be assigned someone of my easygoing and loving temperament." And again she flashed a smile that showed too much canine to be friendly, especially when she turned it on Fred in response to a hesitant ahem.

 

"I was thinking, maybe, instead of butterflies, maybe I could be a princess, or a queen?"

 

"Fine, kiddo, Marie Antoinette, big flouncy skirts and a pound of lace on each sleeve."

 

"Um, well…"

 

"Too frilly? I promise I won't make you carry around a miniature guillotine. M'kay, we can do Cleopatra, pleated linen, snake bracelets. No? Boudiccea, then, wild eyed and bare brea…"

 

"Surely you can think of a queen who doesn't conjure up death images?" Wesley interjected.

 

"Aha! Why didn't you say so! Guenivere it is, floaty sleeves and a trailing handwoven belt. I'm thinking pale blue, are you thinking pale blue?" But his own phrase had caught Wes' attention, and he stepped into the smaller office.

 

"Umm, no?" Fred looked to Gunn, to Wes, anyone for help, but Wes had slid into his office and was leafing through something heavy and probably in a language no one else could read. She sighed. "I think the butterflies are sounding better?"

 

"Really? I love the Marie Antoinette idea." To Fred's dismay, now Angel had joined Wesley in the smaller office and they were huddled. "Alcenon lace and lots of powder. How much can you lift? Any allergies?" 

 

Gunn interrupted. "Are you on speed or do you always talk that fast?"

 

"I know how short the average mortal's lifespan is. Considering your line of work, yours is shorter. I figured I'd have to hustle."

 

Wesley re-entered the room, still carrying a book and she prowled toward him, "Oo there's a way we could piss her off. Dress you up in tights with a ruff and call you Shakespeare."

 

"Not fond of the bard?" Wesley looked up.

"Not fond of the play. Folks assume she's Titania. She's not. Woo boy howdy, is she not."

 

"So who are you?" Angel asked.

 

She narrowed her eyes and took a drag of her cigarette. "I am a minor player / One that will do / To swell a progress / Start a scene or two… she trailed off. "I could tell you Peaseblossom, but then I'd have to answer to that for a fortnight, wouldn't I?"

 

Angel sighed and decided to take a direct approach. "I won't even ask your name, but what should we call you?"

 

"Anything but late for dinner?"

 

"Would you really answer to that?"

 

"No, probably not, come to think of it. Um, let's see, you have a Sparrow in this office already. Call me Linnea. And tell him" she gestured loosely at Wesley "not to bother trying to find it. Do I pry into your secrets?" 

"You've been here twenty minutes." Gunn interjected. "How much prying could you do?"

"Is that a challenge?"

 

\---:::---

 

Over the next week Fred got over her nervousness with their guest gradually. Cordy actually took a shine to Linnea after an encounter with a four armed, sword wielding spirit given manifestation by a Cthulu game gone wrong. Linnea had tied every bandage on Gunn with a big floppy bow, turning him into a HelloKitty mummy for the rest of the day. But demonic emergencies could only interrupt briefly. The unavoidable lull in cosmic catastrophes allowed an afternoon for weapons maintenance and costume fitting.

 

Gunn handed Angel the honing oil and swiped Wes' rag, "You know, she's got both of them set up; we are going to have to make a decision soon." 

 

"What did they decide on?" Wes eyed the edge of the halbard.

 

"Fred's sticking with the butterfly, but I think that's just to please her" His shrug identified the her in question. "Hey, did you know Cordy wanted to be a ballerina? Took dance lessons for years and all that."

 

"I think she mentioned it…" Wes patted the seat behind him looking for the cloth.

 

Linnea swept past, burdened with cubic feet of billowing fluff "And a frothy confection of a ballerina she shall be, my boys. You'll have to see the ribbons on her shoes to know she's not a wedding cake. And you three are fast running out of time to dither." She poked Angel in the chest but turned to face Gunn. "Oh please, let's do the executioner," she stalked toward him, "oiled up chest, black leather pants, intimidating hood,a couple of leather straps and that shiny shiny axe." She ran the tip of her tongue over her upper teeth and gave a dramatic shiver.

 

"You picked that up from Mae West movies, didn't you?" Wesley dryly inquired.

 

"Marilyn Monroe. Hey, I steal from all the masters of the craft. And you are stalling. How hard is this? Pick something you aren't, but want to be for a night."

 

"I still don't know why we need costumes at all." Gunn interjected.

"Because her Majesty says so."

 

"And we jump to her call why?"

 

"Because we agreed to, Gunn." Angel interrupted. "The Court has rules. Break one and you break them all. We play by their rules while we are their guests."

 

Linnea continued smoothly, "And Herself gets pissy if her whims are denied. Or worse, ignored. Staying under her radar is significantly easier on fingers, toes, ears, egos…" Gunn looked at Angel in alarm. 

 

"I told you so," the vampire shrugged.

 

"Oh hush, mosquito boy. My job is to make sure you display appropriate whimsy. That means he dresses up as something other than a domesticated street tough. Book boy isn't allowed to be stuffy, and you can't be a vampire or the spoiled son of a late Eighteenth century village town elder." She examined her nails. "Now the spoiled daughter of a late Eighteenth century town elder, I can do." She smirked up at him. "Irish linen … petticoats… I'm liking this idea."

 

Wesley took pity on his dismayed companion. "One of the benefits of creative costuming would be our inclusion of weapons. However fetching Angel might be as Angela the Irish lassie, his combat readiness would be affected."

"Yeah, plus, petticoats. I wasn't all that fond of them then."

 

"Fine then, decide or it's woad and a sharp stick. And no hair gel."

 

"Why does everyone pick on my hair?"

 

She ignored him and paced to where Wes sat on the couch. "How about you? Pick your weapon. We'll build the costume around it."

 

Heedless of the danger of returning her attention to him, Gunn shot off, "Books. Costume that."

 

"Schoolboy, perhaps? Knee socks, Peter Pan collar and a boater?" she asked.

 

"There was a time, not so long ago, that I would have been upset by that suggestion," he replied, ignoring the whoops of laughter from Gunn. "Thankfully, I have matured past such insecurities."


	4. alliances

Five days before Solstice, and what Cordy, Fred and Gunn were calling D-for-Dance Day, Wesley found Linnea in an upstairs room, sitting on a crate shoved by a window. The mix of shadow and light made her features sharper, and gave an impression of age, or perhaps exhaustion. 

 

"Did you want to be alone?" He asked, and regretted breaking the moment, for she slithered off the crate fluidly and pulled a lit cigarette from the folds of her skirt. 

 

He raised an eyebrow and she smirked. "Don't even try to figure it out. It's magic. Keeps me from having to keep track of a Zippo."

 

"I think you smoke because you believe it's what humans do."

 

"Don't you watch movies? These days, only the bad guys smoke. I think it's a political thing. Besides, why the hell would I want to emulate a mud and dust mortal? Halitosis, indigestion, athlete's foot."

 

"The Fey have stolen human children for years…

 

"Oh please, what have you been reading?"

 

"It's an overriding theme in all sources."

 

"How terribly specist of you," She mocked his accent well. "Humans wrote those books, whatdeya think they are going to say? We eat babies … oh wait yeah, changelings. And we kidnap adults to make them sex slaves … oh right, Tam Lin."

 

"Tam Lin's not a … oh…"

 

"Uh huh." 

 

Wesley shook his head but couldn't dislodge the image. "I've quite forgotten what I wanted to talk to you about."

 

She leered back at him. "I've been told I have that effect on people."

 

He felt firmly on more stable ground; knowing that the flirtation was a distancing trick, he regained his own composure. "Ah, yes, I'm quite sure. However, I was hoping that you could answer a few questions for me about…ah…the other guests."

 

"Oh hey, anything I can do to help the team, you know. Rah rah boom bah. That assumes that I'm actually on your team, mind, 'cause if not I'd be worrying about other things." She trailed a hand along the peeling paint of the casing. "Any chance of getting some actual renovation in some of these rooms? How long have you guys been living here anyway?"

 

"Um, I may have phrased it badly." He steeled himself for her reaction, ready to throw himself to safety out the door or to defend himself against a foe with unknown weaponry. "Lady Linnea Costumer , member of the Seelie Court, once child of green hills, now of the Hyperion Hotel, I ask for true answers from you."

 

She took a slow drag of her cigarette and blew far too much smoke to be a single breath at him. Through the cloud, her eyes seemed otherworldly, feral, perhaps catlike, perhaps not. Then the smoke cleared, and she looked out the window again. "Nice save, on the naming. Occupation will do, in most cases."

 

"I was counting on that."

 

"Green hills, couldn't get any more than that?"

 

"You've been careful when speaking. You are more conversant with popular culture than I am…"

"Oh, like that's tough."

 

"… I took a chance."

 

"A bad one. It's not close enough. Pointy rocks. Green, but pointy." The smile was back and she smirked at him. "I don't have to answer jack shit, you know."

 

"Perhaps not. Perhaps you are lying. Or perhaps it's true but you will answer anyway. Perhaps that's why you requested this assignment, why you chose to live among us. Perhaps I simply gave you an excuse to do what you will." He felt his stomach start to unknot as she cocked her head to one side as though listening to a voice other than his.

 

Linnea flopped bonelessly and gracelessly to the floor in a puddle of fluttering silk. "Hit me with your best shot. Pow pow 21 House wins again"

 

"Cordelia is confusing, Fred is non-linear, but you are a walking non-sequitor." Wesley rubbed the crease between his eyebrows that he feared was becoming permanent.

 

"Nonsense, I multi-task. I'm always thinking about a few things. Figure out what they are and you can follow me quite easily. And everything I say has meaning, just not to you." She pulled a finger though the dust on the floor. "You want chaotic thoughts, try keeping up with a hummingbird. Just because you can't concentrate on … " She rubbed her fingers together unconsciously "oh hell, never mind." She turned from his confusion and faced the window, the sunlight filtered through decades of grime seemed softened. " 'In the hot red light of a black and white / Roses grow.' "

 

"Now I'm quite sure that you're conversing with someone other than me."

 

"No, unlike some people, I can focus on what I'm doing. It's a song. Band named Concrete Blonde."

 

"I've, ah, never heard of them."

 

"Color me surprised." The bitterness in her tone startled him, as did her flinch when he took another step forward. Her normal rapid fire delivery slowed into musing. "I like the blues. Chicago, not Delta-style. Brendon Fraser movies." The smoke from her cigarette wound around the tendrils of hair that had worked themselves free of her braid. "Buffalo wings."

 

"Buffalo wings?" He was quite sure he'd missed a good part of the conversation but wasn't sure where. "They do seem to be popular."

 

"Here. Not there." She looked up at him and in the instant he recognized the desperation in her eyes for what it was his stomach went cold and the back of his neck hot. 

 

"Here. Not there. This alliance of the Prince's?" The months spent researching Angel's importance in prophecies triggered his paranoia, and he and drew himself up with utmost gravity, "Or a trap?"

 

"Don't be egotistical, this is about more than you, or Soulful down there." She ground the remains of the cigarette out on the floor. "You've known from the beginning that there will be other representatives there."

 

"But we aren't repre…oh, I suppose we are. What others? Representatives of whom, I mean."

 

She slumped forward. "I am not permitted to say."

 

"Because you work for her Majesty."

 

"Because I am not permitted to say. What makes you think I'm a high roller? I can't get out of the court, and those who can don't want to, and they don't see….. what I see. Okay, this was stupid." She leaned forward and covered her face in her hands as the tone of her voice sharpened. "Never mind, all right? I'll dress you up, you go boogie woogie oogie and everybody lives happily ever fucking after."

 

"Just tell me what's going on." He snarled, stalking away to keep from leaning over her. "I can't help if I don't even know what the problem is."

 

"Who says there's a problem?" She sneered. "Alliances change with every roll in court. The Court survives. And that's more important than the individual."

 

The ring of his comprehension sounded like a bell, "That legend is true, then." She didn't look up at his quiet question. "The tithe to Hell." He sank to the ground near her, just out of arms' reach, folding his legs with some awkwardness.

 

"Depends on the Monarch. If the incoming Monarch is arrogant enough to think that we don't need protection, then we don't send tribute. Of course, we are at war through that reign. Final tally is usually about the same, in numbers." 

 

"In dead."

 

"The word you are looking for is cannon fodder."

 

"Oh dear." 

 

"Angel made an impression on His Highness. I've not decided yet whether I'm happy about that."

 

"And yet, you are here, helping us to heighten that positive impression….No, to underscore an impression, considering you were sent by the Queen." He paused, realizing, "Which is why the suggested costumes were defeatist images, the celt, the barbarian, the various dead queens, Merlin of fallen Camelot…"

 

"Heh, didn't think you'd caught that."

 

"I have years of experience of being underestimated. I've never thought of butterflies as being particularly violent." 

 

"Just shortlived."

 

"You know, in the legends that come to us, Arthur will rise again, making Merlin not all that negative a reference."

 

She shrugged. "She couldn't think of another wizard?" She grinned wickedly. "Be happy about that by the way; I could do a super-realistic lightning scar." And she sombered again just as sudenly, "Arthur dies, Camelot is pulled apart by human frailty. It works."

 

"Her Majesty would prefer that her heir not consider mortals as allies, correct?" 

 

She stiffened, but her hands never stopped making patterns in the dust on the floor. Specks flickered in the diffused sunlight. "I have no idea or opinion on her Majesty's thoughts or plans."

 

"Ah, poor phrasing again. I think I've got this game now. Her Majesty has a current treaty with Hell," he corrected himself "with what humans would consider demons, or misname Hell." She nodded. "And with his coming coronation, His Highness will choose to renew or negate that treaty." Another nod and sweep of dust. "Renewing it would prove her wisdom in the original treaty, ending it would plunge his court into open warfare." She nodded again, but he was lost in his own thoughts and didn't notice. "There has to be another option."

 

"Hunh? For what?"

 

"War or sacrifice. There has to be another option. There has to be something we can do. That's why we are involved, of course."

 

"Cool your jets. This isn't a vision from your Seer. You aren't supposed to be involved. I'm just meddling."

 

"Meddling? You are attempting to save a number of your people from death, whether at sword's edge or in chains. Of course it's our job. Or perhaps, we are only meant to save you. You must leave the court."

"What?!" She kicked against the floor and slid some feet away from him before rocking to her feet. "I can't leave the court. One, it's not possible; two, where would I go, and three, it's not possible." She pulled another cigarette from thin air, but didn't actually bother touching it to her lips, instead simply waving it randomly, smoke trailing as she paced. "Our numbers are too low as it is. We can't fragment any further or there will be no court to speak of."

 

"Then you will be no target for Hell. Could that be the third option?"

 

"Destroy the Court? No, we reveled when man was gnawing on bones around campfires. We've raised glasses to your evolution and will dance in the flame when you finally self-destruct."

 

"Is the Court truly so static?"

 

"Rulebound and stiff and yeah, pretty much. Humans mutate and rebel. We don't."

 

"You mentioned fragmentation."

"I was blowing smoke… a couple of princelings left, took their retinue. Betrayed the whole for the sake of the individual."

 

"Succesfully?"

 

"They haven't been targeted. I think because they haven't claimed to be Court."

 

"Fragmentation to deceive the enemy?"

 

"Betraying the Queen."

 

"Evolution."

 

"Desertion." Her eyes flashed and he switched tactics.

 

"Would you be safer? Could you bring some of your people to safety?"

 

"It's too dangerous a precedent. I would be the first low court Sidhe to do so. Besides, the Seelie Court has made alliances in the past, with forces other than mortal. Why should I abandon my Queen and my court and my people?" her hands, always twitchy, were now shaking as she pulled restlessly at her hem, causing still more dust to eddy and swirl. "Sea and sky, you're telling me to lead a rebellion. I can't do that. Why should I do that?"

 

"Buffalo Wings."

 

That mobile face went suddenly, shockingly still, with her eyes open far wider than humanly possible. Even the cobweb flutters of her skirt floated, at a loss without her constant pacing, her nervous energy. Then the moment broke and in a cloud of lace like smoke, she fled out of the door, leaving Wesley to wonder, as he'd obviously said something very important, exactly what point he'd made.


	5. Binding

Wesley considered, decided, changed his mind, reconsidered, went back to his original stance, then decided to throw all caution to the winds and act rashly. It seemed his time in America was having an effect on his personality after all. 

 

He stepped into the lobby to find Cordelia standing on the high counter with Gunn hovering nervously and Angel across the room pretending that he, too, wasn't ready to catch her if she fell. 

 

"That doesn't look entirely safe."

 

"That's why Tweedledum and Tweedledummer are quivering with hopes of manly rescue." Linnea's voice floated from the vicinity of Cordelia's ankles. "I wanted to hem this properly and she won't let me do it the right way."

 

"Would the right way be safer?"

 

"No, it involves a weed wacker, what do you think?" A head of mussed hair popped from around the layers of chiffon.

 

"I think that perhaps Cordelia could be convinced to reconsider her stance. Perhaps to something less than three feet off the ground."

 

"No, I don't think I would. Wesley, you didn't see…"

 

"Too late, we're done." Linnea popped up into sight. "Hey, muscles, wanna help her down? Parasite, you're next, you D'Artagnan, you. Strip down, we got four days and you wanted to break in the boots. It's probably been a while since you stomped around in thigh high leather."

 

"Angel in leather is normally considered a Bad Thing," Cordelia shot back as she swept from the room in a billow of chiffon. Angel shed his shirt and stood looking uncomfortable.

 

"Actually," Wes tried to look noncommittal as he gestured, but he'd found that what he thought of as noncommittal usually came across as nervous. "I'd like to ask a professional question, if I may."

 

"Only if you can spit it out." She threw a length of pale silk over Angel's shoulders, the difference in their heights forcing her to jump for the other end. He muttered something and she responded "Don't be a weenie, Mosquito-boy. Of course my pins are sharp. Hold still."

 

"If I wanted to get a message to your queen, how would I do so?"

 

"You'd give it to me. Hold still, dammit."

 

"And if you chose not to relay the message?" he replied, trying to determine why Angel was wincing.

 

She shot him a suspicious look and Angel took the opportunity to twitch. "If you like, I can send a formal message that you've written; your thumbprint and everything." She turned back toward Angel "And if you don't hold still, I'm going to take my pinking shears to your scrotum."

 

"Ah yes," Wesley tried not to blush and ignored Gunn's snicker. After all, the threat hadn't been made to him and he was trying not to smile at Angel standing at ramrod attention "perhaps, after you are finished…"

 

"I'm done," she twitched at the silk and it slid partly into her hand. "Whathehell?" Angel leaned toward her and she pulled a pin out of the fabric and his shoulder underneath. "You were pinned? Why didn't you say something?"

 

"Pinking shears." 

 

"What about pinking shears?" asked Cordelia as she re-entered the room, comfortably clad in sweatpants, her arms full of fluffy chiffon.

 

"Absolutely nothing about pinking shears." Angel shrugged into his shirt with unseemly haste as Linnea simply smiled and turned to Wesley.

 

"Okay, what message did you want to send?" 

 

"I'm still considering it." 

 

"Fine, what costume did you decide on?"

 

"I believe I'll take your suggestion." They all gaped at him and he allowed the astonished silence to grow for a moment before continuing. "Lightning scar. It will allow me to wear comfortable clothing and sensible shoes under scholastic robes which, I assume, you can modify to include pockets and I can carry a few books with me."

 

"You really are that stuffy, aren't you?" she replied in stunned amazement. "Right then." She threw a measuring tape across his shoulders. "You do know that as of the end of the most recent book, Voldemort's winning."

 

"There are three more books."

 

"This optimism, is it catching? 'Cause I have rubber gloves somewhere."

 

"No, you should be safe." He chuckled.

 

"Hold this here." She dropped to her knees and as he held the measuring tape to his shoulder, he noticed that not only was it marked in irregular increments, but also it lengthened to puddle on the floor. He was quite sure it had been about a yard long when it rested across his back and now it was almost three. She pulled it from his hand with a snap and rose. "Decided on the message to my liege yet? I'm due for a smoke break."

 

"You smoke in here all the time." Gunn said.

"Fine, I'm due for a fresh air break." She called over one shoulder as she swept imperiously from the room, wadding the measuring tape up one sleeve.

 

"As a matter of fact, yes I have," he called to her back, "but I'll need some things." He stepped to the counter and lowered his voice. "Do you have any bread?"

Cordelia paused in the act of handing him a pen, "Hunh? You want to write on toast? Or are you trying for slang and mean money, 'cause if so, don't."

 

"No, Angel suggested I attempt a binding." He watched Linnea walk outside in the bright morning light, paced by, and apparently in conversation with, a feral cat. "Hand me that book, please, Charles." 

 

"Um, I don't have bread, but will these do?" Gunn laid the leather bound volume onto the counter while Cordelia tossed a double handful of Saltines in crinkly two packs next to it. 

 

"Quite honestly, I have very little idea of what in our library is true and what is either false or merely skewed by human perspective. But they should do no harm. Gunn, how clean is your pocketknife? Mine still has…"

 

"I don't want to know!" Cordelia shrieked.

 

"Right. I'd prefer to use as small a cutting instrument as possible."

 

"For what?" Wesley started as Linnea appeared behind him. "You know, as quietly as the big guy moves, I'd've thought you'd would be spook-proof by now." She took in the crackers. "Oo is it snack time? I think I have a sausage in my bag and a wee drop a summat…" She poked at the open book before her. "Bread and blood." To Wesley's relief, she seemed thoughtful rather than affronted. "That's quite a message." She traced another few words with her fingertips. "You do know this ritual is younger than I am, not that that's saying all that much but, oh fine." Gunn set a butterfly knife next to the book and she shoved it back at him. "I don't think so." Wes stepped toward the weapons cabinet and she cut him off. "Don't even think about it. I know what you people do with those. I've got my own. If I'm going to risk poisoning it'll be by my own blade, thank you very much." She dug into the side pocket of her lap top bag and pulled out a jewelry sized knife, a lovely little three inch double-edged blade with thin bars of silver spiraling around open air to form the handle. 

 

She handed it to Wesley, who gestured at the Saltines. "You probably have something more appropriate for this than these in that case."

 

"Several somethings. But I really like the crackers. They seem so…right."

 

"Convenient?" Gunn asked.

 

"Disposable. Ubiquitous. Modern. Inelegant, and by so being, human." Gunn wrinkled his brow, obviously trying to decide whether to be insulted or not.

 

"If I asked which parts of this are truly needed, will you tell me all of it or only the embarrassingly florid passages."

"You asking me?"

 

"You are our resident, albeit temporary, expert on the Fey. And I shan't mention pointy green rocks."  
She raised a single imperious eyebrow at that and snagged a piece of paper from the printer's tray. "Write the terms of the contract. Keep it simple and, for both our sakes, specific. Then the ouchy part. No florid passages, no guessing at names." She rubbed the palm of one hand nervously as he slouched to write a few lines. He showed the page to Angel, who nodded.

 

"Do you want to verify this?" he asked her.

 

"Either the Queen rejects it and I don't care, or she accepts it and I don't have a choice." She retorted. "Hang on, gotta drop the glamour first." She jumped up to sit on the counter as Cordy shuddered. "Yeah, yeah, we can't all be Grace Kelly. Bet you look pretty scruffy first thing in the morning, too." She stared challengingly at Angel as she shrunk to a grotesque doll.

 

"Hey, you got wings!" Gunn exclaimed. She turned to face him and he twitched back. "Whoa! And ugly. No offense."

"Charles, really, we cannot judge every being by human standards. I'm sure that as Sidhe go, Linnea is lovely."

"Not really," she shrugged. "'Bout average, in fact. Brownies are prized for skills other than beauty. We ready to do this?" she shoved one hand toward the waiting paper. On impulse, Wesley raised the tiny hand to his lips, bowing low over the counter to do so. Her surprise was apparent despite her distorted features. Proof, he mused, that the eyes were anyone's most expressive feature as they had stayed the most human to him while the nose disappeared and lips flattened over elongated, sharpened teeth. The texture of her skin had changed little with the transformation though it now shone iridescently green. Decidedly pointed ears extruded through hair still swept into a loose braid, but now a crimson shade no hair salon could claim as natural.

 

"Actually it's better than what you first looked like…. once you get used to it… no, that's still creepy."

Gunn reached over and smacked Cordelia on the arm. "You ain't allowed to say boo when you check yourself for horns and a tail twice a week. Besides, the wings are kinda cool." 

 

"So glad you approve. You want cute wings, ask Fred to bounce when she's wearing her dress. I made the wings float, so they flutter when…right…" She shuddered as Wes picked up the blade which had seemed so delicate and now looked like a sword next to her. "Let's do this." She kicked the saltine over his carefully printed words and after a pause settled in a tailor's sprawl leaning over the cracker, arm extended.

 

"I thought you didn't care to read it." 

 

"Call me a creature of curiosity. Cross your fingers." She steadied the blade in Wes' loose grip by gripping the tip and drew the edge of the blade against her forearm allowing several drops of blood to spatter against the center of the cracker. "Stab that for me, would you please?" The tiny sword looked ridiculous in his hand, but he pressed the tip down through the soggy cracker and into the paper beneath. Both disappeared in a burst of light and a flitter of music.

 

Linnea snarled "Showoff." and launched herself from the counter in a flutter of dragonfly wings and green organdy, landing on the floor in human guise.

 

"You need a Band Aid? We have lots."

 

"Thank you, Fred, but no." They stood for a moment, awkwardly looking around at one another, trying not to notice that Linnea was rubbing the inside of her forearm. As one, they stepped to various small tasks, Wesley to the seemingly endless task of reshelving and refiling his materials in such a way as to allow immediate access, Cordelia to her incessant manicure maintenance, Gunn and Fred to tinkering with the printer yet again, and Linnea cornered Angel waving a length of royal blue fabric in one hand and a leather awl in the other. 

 

He'd cleared most of the large table and was starting on the side shelves by the time Fred reassembled the printer, and had finished the side shelves and was starting in on the hidden area under the counter by the time Cordelia zipped up her small make up case and whispered to him. "Are you seeing this?" 

 

"What?" he replied.

 

"She's twitchy," Cordelia rolled her eyes at his smirk. "More so than usual. Look up from the library dust, why don't you? Am I the only person here who notices these things?" 

 

"Apparently, yes." Wesley retrieved the Sommerville Manuscript from beneath a pair of Starbucks cups and shuffled the two scrolls already in his arms to hold all three. He stepped out from behind the counter and headed to the smaller office, passing Angel who stood with ill concealed impatience as Linnea centered the King's Cross on his tabard for what was surely the fourth time. Perhaps the fifth. 

 

He looked up at Angel, who shook his head slowly and they both ignored a quietly muttered "pinking shears" from waist level. 

 

"What response do you fear?" Wesley asked. Linnea started, right hand going automatically to her left arm, then turning the movement into a broader gesture and coming away with a cigarette.

 

"Yes? No? A Banshee come to drag me by my heels into the Royal Presence for my unmitigated arrogance?" She flipped the tabard up, and Angel ducked under it and grasped her hands lightly.

 

"You do know that if she does, you are under my protection." 

 

"Actually, technically if she does, it will be because Linnea isn't under…" Wesley glanced up to see two pair of supernatural eyes glaring. "Well, of course…."

 

"Yeah, right what-" she hissed suddenly as the cut on her arm flared with green light and she clutched it to her chest, hopping up and down and muttering for a moment. She shook it out, looked up and clearly enunciated "Owie." She ran her fingernails across the new scar wiping what little blood there was away. "Hard to remember that that's a good sign."

 

A flutter of wings sounded from the doors. Gunn was closest and he came back with a small square of linen and a bemused look. "Owls fly at night, right?"

 

"That wasn't really an owl."

"You know, somehow that doesn't make me feel better." He glanced down. "Accepted? What's accepted?" 

 

Linnea snatched it from his hand and blinked, then smiled. She threw the fabric to Cordy and spun to Angel. As she pirouetted across the lobby, her skirts lengthened and filled out to a hooped skirt and structured bodice and her ever present cigarette stretched into a cedar fan. She bowed extravagantly, including all of them in a gracious sweep of her arm. "It means that my fealty has been transferred as, in his wisdom," she fluttered her eyelashes at Wes "your magician has determined that my attention would be more focused were my loyalties not divided." 

 

"What of the other?" Wesley asked.

 

"Either she didn't notice or… well… I guess she didn't notice."

 

Cordelia tapped the counter. "Lemme get this straight. Wes stabbed you and now you work for us?"

 

"You ever read a studio contract?"


	6. The Revel

Rain pattered on the lobby doors as Fred spun her purse idly again. The butterflies on it matched the ones on her skirt, down to the hinged wings so that they fluttered with every movement as though landing or sunning themselves. Every time she'd tried to sit down Linnea had glared at her, so she'd found a compromise, settling the outer skirt over the counter stool and sitting on only her petticoat. She spun the purse again. It should have been heavier than it was, but when she and Wes had started questioning the folding space within, Cordy had interrupted so often they gave up. She'd figure it out later. Probably be easier without Wes' help anyway. He got so caught up in tradition that sometimes he didn't realize thatt eh answer, elegant and simple as an algebriac formula lay before him. Though folding space clearly wasn't algebriac. Right now the purse held the lipstick that Cordy had picked out for her, packages of pennyroyal, wolfsbane, and iron filings, all carefully wrapped in silk, two vials of holy water, and the fattest Swiss Army Knife she'd ever seen. Then Gunn had given over a flask of vodka, a pack of Doublemint gum, a tin sheriff's star that he was going to pin to his cowboy vest as soon as they were out of Linnea's sight, and his digital watch. But the purse still hung softly from its silk ribbons and twisted lightly around her wrist. 

 

Cordy flew downstairs in a pale pink cloud, her hair bound in a bun with streamers of ribbons floating behind her. She slid to a stop on the lobby tile, pirouetted cleanly and posed for a moment with a huge grin. Wesley applauded appreciatively, Angel smiled indulgently and Charles was trying so hard to fit his revolver back into his holster that he hadn't noticed. 

 

"Finally, Seer, excuse me, Miss Prima Donna." Linnea waved smoke away as Cordy stood in a graceful fifth position, arms high and perfectly curved, shifted into arabesque, then dropped back into fifth with a smile. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, very nice, you belong in a music box. Okay folks, not a dress rehearsal…checklist time. Did everyone go potty?" Linnea unzipped her laptop case and pulled various things, a measuring tape, her PDA, a quill pen, out of her pockets and dropping them in.

 

Angel furrowed his brow and asked "I thought we'd decided everyone was going armed?"

 

Wesley smiled and Linnea snickered as Cordy started humming 'Let Me Entertain You'. She pulled the ankle length skirt up to just above the knee to show the edge of the scabbard. 

 

They all looked to Fred who thrust her hand into her bag as quickly as she dared, grabbed something cylindrical and mimed tossing it at him, hoping it was holy water and not the lipstick. "And then I run away." 

 

"Absolutely," Wes zipped a thoroughly modern backpack with a plastic Golden Snitch dangling from the zipper pull. "I've got the Concordance of the Fey, though I'm not sure that is going to be our best option should something come up. Should anyone need to know, the right ankle holster has lead hollow points and the shoulder has silver tipped. Just in case. As always, safety on and one in the chamber." 

 

Angel inhaled slowly, then brushed his fingers across the back of Wes' waistband. "What's in the belly band?"

 

"Something sneaky." And he went back to settling the bookbag.

 

"Um, okay, I'm not wearing anything hidden, but um," Angel looked up at Gunn "don't even try to use the flintlock. It's slow and unreliable, except maybe as a club. There's a reason they got replaced." And he nodded at the revolvers riding low on Gunn's chaps.

 

"Hey, I'm all for the modern world. You don't see me carrying a sword, now do you?" He responded, pulling one six shooter and giving it a passable twirl. "These things are damn heavy. But the hat is cool," he tipped the brim at Angel, "Podner" and at Fred, "Ma'am" And grinned. 

 

Linnea threw Angel's hat at him, plume fluttering. "Put it on and don't argue."

 

"I wasn't…"

 

"You were. We could give you a skullcap with ears and call you the King's Mousketeer, but only half the Court would get it." She looked around. "As opposed to three-fifths I'm getting here."

 

Angel jammed the hat down and promptly had to pull it back up to settle it properly. "Gunn doesn't have to worry about hat hair. And nobody else has a hat."

 

"Hey, that's your choice. You wanted to be a musketeer, you get the hat. I chose a costume without a hat. They bug the snot out of me." 

 

"You have a costume?"

 

"Didn't want to wear it in transit. Everybody ready? I'm serious about the potty, we aren't stopping en route." She patted the laptop case and pulled a hair, wrapping it around the handle. "All right, everybody hold hands." 

 

Fred tried hopping off the stool, but simply pulled it over with her. By the time she got it up, her blush under control and turned around again, the other were waiting for her, Gunn and Cordy holding out their hands for her to join the circle. 

 

"Here we go."

 

\---:::---

 

Angel, as always, took the lead, stepping onto a grassy path in what seemed to be a perfectly normal forest. He couldn't spot anything blatantly magical, no susurrus of chanting, no mushrooms with Chinese eyes or pixies frolicking underfoot. But it had been a hundred years since any normal forest didn't have underlaying scents of human invasion. These trees had never seen an airplane overhead or sheltered a hiker dropping PowerBar wrappers. There were heartbeats nearby, but not elevated, and he could make out voices under the screetch of modern music further up the hill.

 

"Hey, Wes, am I going nuts or do you hear an electric guitar?" Gunn said.

 

Wesley smiled and asked, "What electric guitar?" 

 

Linnea shook her head in affected annoyance and waved for them to stop. "I gotta get dressed; I'll meet you at the crown. Follow the path, stay inside the lights. You'll be fine. Not even the Queen would dare attack you overtly here. But don't go wandering, all right?" She poked Angel in the chest, hard. "That goes double for you. The only damsels in distress on your dance card tonight are these two. These four. Got it?" Ignoring Gunn and Wesley's affronted exclamations, she stepped off the rock path and slid into the shadows of the woods nearby. The moon above was bright enough to show the path in front and behind them, but the trees to each side were cloaked in shadow. Gunn seemed to be trying to convince himself there was nothing there. Angel kept track of each heartbeat and the accompanying rustling as they were paced, or escorted, along the way.

 

They stepped out of the treeline into the clearing and found the source of the noise. Amps had been set up to face down the hill and a seven foot figure dressed in purple sequins shimmered in the moonlight. He and two others stood on a pile of rugs stacked to a couple of feet. The bright colors of the rugs slid into a mix of patterns, completely unmatched, but like a well done collage, perfectly cohesive. He did, indeed, play an electric guitar and Gunn mentioned, after a pause, that Little Wing worked well in any form, including guitar and bagpipe. "I don't even recognize some of those instruments." He muttered, gesturing at a jumble of items set to the side of the impromptu stage.

 

Wesley glanced over. "The dumbek and Bohdran on top are self evident. Underneath that pipe is a digeridoo, and that one, I have no idea. It may not be a musical instrument." 

 

"I've heard it played; it isn't." Angel's voice was cold. "And I'm not exactly pleased to see one again." 

 

"Angelus? my dear, sweet boy, could that possibly be your lovely voice I hear?"

 

Years of practice kept him from showing any emotion outwardly; nothing could keep him from flinching inwardly as Angel turned to face what seemed to be a slowly putrefying corpse, subtly sweeping Fred behind him. "Boyryxx," Angel could feel the chill as Fred retreated away from his back. "You're far from home."

 

"Silly boy," the demon threw his arms in an expansive gesture, maggots dropping in a spray as he did so. "The many layers of the universe are my home. How could I possibly be confined to a cage like some misbehaving semi-mortal child?" 

 

"May I suggest a big glass jar?"

 

"Ah, much more spirited than when you were writhing in pain at my feet." The corpse chuckled softly, ignoring the raised tension of his entourage. "And such pretty clothes. They hide the scars beneath nicely. You do still carry the mark of my hand." 

 

"It's a scar. Like others. Just another mark of survival." Angel could feel Gunn and Wes moving out behind him, to keep the group from being flanked by the demon's companions. He could have told them not to bother. The Hell Lord's henchmen were in costume, one in a pinstripe suit and fedora with a violin case, the other in a fanciful brown leather doublet and green tights. The arrows in his quiver glinted with metal, probably silver, a none too subtle threat to their hosts. But the costumes indicated that they had agreed to abide by Court rules for the night, just as he and his people had. 

 

Boyryxx smiled and leered over Angel's shoulder for a moment until Angel shifted his weight to break the corpse's line of sight. "Jealous, dear boy?" He raised one eyebrow and the flesh beneath it sagged liquidly. "I don't mind admitting that I'd like to see you again. But I'm willing to share with your charming new friends. Perhaps another day." And he turned his back on the group. After a moment, Angel shook his shoulders in an attempt to clear his battle instinct, but was distracted by Cordelia's hand creeping into his. He sighed and glanced at the others; at Fred's startled blink, he pulled his human mask up. He hadn't even realized he'd slipped. Cordelia stroked his arm and he shot a rueful smile at Wes. "Is it too late to say I told you so?"

 

"No, but I get to say it, if you'll recall."

"Right."

 

An unfamiliar fey swept toward them, ethereally perfect from silvery blonde hair to pointed shoes. "Mortal guests of his Highness, if thou wilt accompany…" he swept past them, not bothering to finish his sentence or to verify that they were following.

\---:::---

 

"Hey! Cookies!" Linnea swiped a cookie from a tray, tossing it from hand to hand as it cooled. A tall fey glanced over and glowered as she approached. Even in human form, he dwarfed her, standing at almost eight foot, shaggy dreadlocks swinging as he snapped a towel at her. She evaded it with a smile, finishing the cookie and licking buttery crumbs from her fingers. 

 

"Get out. Or wash your hands and help." He turned back to his pots and threw the towel to a diminutive winged sylph. "I've too much to do to put up with your pranks tonight." He growled as she peered over trays, stealing bits from a few. 

 

"This is gorgeous, you sucking up with her Maj? Or bucking for the Coronation feast, buddy boy?" she murmured through a mouthful of sashimi. "God I hate transitions, you never know who to suck up to."

 

He snorted, showing white fangs, "Not that you ever have anyway, brownie." He waved off her protests, "neh neh, save it for the others, you know better than any of us what to do, you simply choose not to. You'd best hope it isn't your undoing."

 

She stilled and turned to face him entirely, waiting for him to continue. He seemed satisfied that he had her attention, and continued, "Your fealty transfer was rash." At her shrug, he strode forward, towering over her and pulling her chin up to finish. "You, my darling girl, are rash."

 

"You know what I'm trying to do." Linnea patted his chest, reaching high to do so. "Look around us and tell me it isn't worth the risk." 

 

"The court…"

 

She blew a raspberry up at him, "Horsefeathers, how many high court morons know or care, who I am, who you are. Any of us. Loyalty should be earned. They used to know that."

 

"You are rash."

 

"I like brave." She put her hands on her hips and refused to step back.

"Foolhardy. Impetuous."

 

"Terrified."

 

"Good." They glared at one another for a moment, red eyes matched to green, then he turned to pull a pot off the fire and she sighed and swirled a finger through a bowl of strawberry puree. He growled at her without looking up and she smiled as she sucked the drops from her fingers. 

 

"This is really good." She ventured, quietly.

 

"Simple ingredients, prepared simply." He replied, and she grinned as she mouthed the words with him to his back. Two of the sprites underfoot snickered quietly as they went back about their business. Linnea sighed.

 

"I didn't really plan it out, you know." She said.

 

He seemed willing to be mollified and she felt her chest loosen as her heart slowed to normal, "How much do you plan, child?" 

 

"Probably not enough."

 

"Drop the probably and I'd agree. Here, taste this." 

 

Linnea obediently took the morsel. "Too much rosemary."

 

"Given your dislike of rosemary, it's perfect then."

"Probably." She agreed and tipped a strawberry slice from the bowl. "So is there news? Other than the obvious, of course."

 

"The Prince's assumption of power or his declaring open hostility on the hordes of Hell." He waited while she finished choking on strawberry and glared at him.

 

"He's demonstrating his power tonight, in fact before court, so probably about now. Just listen for the screams." 

 

Her eyes widened, "Oak and Ash, I've got people out there," she dove for a duffel bag under a cabinet and pulled the lock off it with a twist. 

 

He nudged her with one knee until she looked up, "Take your time. I know who's out there. Your people aren't targets." 

 

"So he's…" she faded into silence at his nod. She rocked back on her heels, pulling leather and feathers from the bag, "Isn't there anything you don't know, old dog?" 

 

"You've listened for me often enough. " 

 

"Yeah yeah," she shrugged down to a tunic and pulled black trews up, hopping madly about, while food laden sylphs flitted about, avoiding her gyrations in a choreography of chaos. He turned back to his fire and she spoke to his back. "Not going to be able to do that soon. I'll either be in the shadow realm or his majesty's caves sucking water from rocks and dining on worms."

 

"Are you actively seeking death?" His voice was quiet and her temper flared.

 

"I'm not waiting for it to come to me." She snapped. "I'm not you or Pontis or 'Thorn. I can't fight, I can't scheme, I can't plot, but I can do this."

 

"As long as you know what you have gotten yourself into, little gnat."

 

"Do I ever?" and she shoved the breastplate into place, fishing for the buckle that dangled out of reach. "Now I know why they use squires for this crap."

 

He spun to face her and laughed, long and low. She'd forgotten that sound, like the mountains moving, like waterfalls, or avalanches. There was a time he was considered a god. Mortals had forgotten, even his liege lady had forgotten, but yes, this was the voice of dark caves and cold winter's deep and the creaking of ice in thaw. She froze, trying very hard not to show her shiver as he gently buckled the left strap and kissed her forehead. "Little mayfly," he crooned, and surely he knew what he was doing, he had to feel her tremble, "Rash does not begin to describe you." 

 

"Impertinent?" she quirked a smile as he took a step back and she could breathe again. She tugged the greaves over her shins, then pulled her hair down to a single braid. The familiar ritual soothed her. She may well be a mayfly, but she was acting, instead of acquiescing, and if she got slapped, so be it. "Besides, His Maj'll love it."

 

"Or he'll kill you on sight."

She kicked the duffel back out of the way and blew him a kiss. "Yeah, well, that's always an option too." She left, sword in hand, snagging another cucumber cup from a tray on the way out of the kitchen.

 

\---:::---

 

Wesley tried not to gawk, but there were times when a double take was the only acceptable compromise between cool acceptance and outright staring. Their guide led the group on a meandering path though clumps of gaily costumed revelers. He saw Cordelia snap her attention in the direction of a rack of deer's horns and realized with a shock that the figure wore a fox mask and a suit of russet silk. She poked and whispered to Fred who gestured only slightly less conspicuously to a woman sitting gracefully on a blanket, her serpentine tail wound around her, wearing a crown of blooming red roses and green robes embroidered with brown thorns. Fred whispered, "I saw a kitsune dressed in jeans and a SpongeBob Squarepants T-shirt. I think he's being a mortal. You know, if he's pretending to be a human and if one of us, well, not Angel, obviously, had dressed as a fairy… you know, this just takes a whole ironic slide to the left, doesn't it?"

 

They were interrupted by a flurry of black and gray, "Hey y'all. I've got incredibly good news. Demi, go kick back and hoist one. I'll herd 'em from here." Their guide stiffened, fixed a disdainful eye on Linnea's loose grin, and withdrew, bowing. 

 

She led them in a straight line toward the top of the hill, muttering, "Insufferable High Court stiff. What? What? Oh yeah." A quick pirouette and the grey eagle wings flew out from serviceable looking black cure boile leather armor accented with burgundy straps. "I'm an angel. I thought it was amusing."

 

"And?" Wesley prompted, sure that her lopsided smirk promised more to the story.

 

"Yeah, yeah, and only landed warriors are supposed to wear this stuff, so hey, I'm tormenting Shak again. We all have our hobbies. I tried to get the sword to flame but my illusions suck and the real thing was…well...ow. Eventually, I ran out of aloe vera and gave up. Anyway, not important. Important is you guys are off the hook, I betcha." At Angel's look of surprise, she continued, "Kitchen gossip. Friends in low places are so much more useful than friends in high places." 

 

"Court's up and we are waiting our asses right here until our cue." Almost immediately there was a wavering shriek from the top of the hill and Angel and Gunn drew weapons. "Nope, nope, that's not our cue." They stood in a rough circle, Fred shoved to the center, all of them with weapons half drawn, while Linnea examined her nails. Then smoothed her feathers. Then brushed Angel out of the way and straightened Fred's bodice. She fiddled with Gunn's vest, forcing him to choose between waving the gun in her general direction or holstering it. The crowd around them was too carefully not looking up the hill. Finally, Wes pulled her shoulder only to be stopped by an upraised finger. "Nope, still not our cue." She went back to examining her fingernails, "Timing really is everything, you know." Like a breeze passing along a wheat field, a slight movement flowed across the hillside. Nothing he could identify, but hands moved more easily, the low volume of chatter bubbled; it was as though the crowd heaved a sigh. Linnea rolled her neck and flashed a toothy grin. "That, my dears, is our cue. After me, please." And she took off on a direct path up to the crown of the hill, wings shimmying with her steps, barely skirting seated groups. Wes was most amused to see the various costumed fey give her the same subdued attention that they'd been trying not to be obvious about themselves. 

 

As they crested the hill, Linnea waved them to a stop. They'd reached a cluster of people at the periphery of a clearing. Wes spotted an obvious functionary under a pole with a light atop it. Linnea ran to him, bowed as formally as Wesley had seen and spoke quietly. The elder nodded and she ran back toward them, wingtips trailing. Wesley could see, as she could not, the affectionate smile directed after her before he resumed his professional demeanor. 

 

She swept to a stop, wings shivering, and ran a critical eye over each of them, pulling on Fred's hairpiece, dropping to one knee to check the ribbons on Cordelia's shoes, glaring at Gunn until he pulled his hands out of his gunbelt. 

 

"I wanted pockets."

 

"You'd have shoved your hands in them all night."

 

"So?"

 

"Does Fred need to sing the cowboy song again?"

 

"Yo yo yo." Fred pulled his hands out of the belt and wrapped them around her waist.

 

Linnea turned to Angel. "His Highness has made a spectacular show of strength." 

 

"Is that good news?" Fred asked.

"Well, for you it is, my little flutterby. Do the bouncy thing." Fred complied with an indulgent eyeroll and Linnea clapped her hands in joy. "I'm really happy with those wings. I think I like yours more than I do my own. Feathers are heavier than you'd expect."

 

Angel laid a heavy hand on her shoulder "Linnea, please focus. What show of strength and how does it…" but he gave up when she made eye contact under his arm and nodded to someone behind him.

 

"Right, up you go. You in the lead." She pulled Angel by the front of his tabard. "And be a good clan laird. Cordy, you stick with him and show teeth. You two go ahead and hold hands, you're gonna anyway'" her cheek twitched and Wes frowned "and that puts you with me. C'mon" She shoved Angel in the small of his back and they moved out as a group. 

 

Wes leaned over and whispered, "Is there a subtle reason for the pairing, or simply the obvious?" 

 

"This is the Court," she hissed back. "Everyone is required to have multiple reasons for every action, in varying degrees of subtlety. I'm lucky, I'm low enough that I only need two. High Court you have to have four or five to piss in a pot." He tapped her hand where it lay in the crook of his arm and shot her a dirty look. "Fine, the obvious is gender partner matches. The second is if we go into physical combat, I want Gunn by Fred. He's, well, devoted which allows Angel to take point while Cordy covers you to come up with something clever. Plus, I couldn't possibly pair Fred with Angel, for cosmetic reasons."

 

"Height difference?"

 

"Nah, their blues don't quite match. Next to each other, it's much more obvious." She glanced sideways at him for his reaction.

"I think I've finally learned how to tell when you are joking."

 

"It's only half a joke. And I talk too much when I'm nervous. No wait, I just talk too much." She quirked an eyebrow and as they entered the lit circle, her face froze into a mask of polite immobility, hiding the normally quicksliver flash of emotions visible.

 

The LA drag community could take lessons in dramatic staging from the fey, Wesley thought. A pair of thrones rested on a gentle swell with a glittering crowd of bejeweled courtiers circling at a polite distance. The queen sat in a puddle of midnight blue satin with a crescent moon mask on a stick in one hand. Diamonds sparkled as stars in a braided coil of ebony hair. A jester in judge's robes and powdered wig lounged at her feet, running a golden coin over his knuckles. His Highness, clearly more relaxed than he had been in the warehouse two weeks before, had a smaller, but only slightly less ornate throne to her left. He shimmered with light, gold satin reflecting the wan moonlight until he glowed. He swung a mask loosely in his fingertips, a brilliant sun with metallic rays that were obviously sharp enough to scratch as he trailed the edges over the back of the figure at his feet. The writhing figure, broken quiver with spilled silver arrows at his side, was held captive by a skeletal brown hand ripped through the sod at the foot of the throne. It was clear that he was whole, simply trapped, but there wasn't room for him to breathe unless he stayed pressed to the ground at His Majesty's golden slippers.

 

They approached with strict formality and Wesley admired how well Gunn and Fred were able to emulate Angel's elaborate courtesy. The queen smiled, a brittle twist, and said, "We understand that our Heir owes you his well-being." Her face was beautifully neutral as his Majesty shifted position. "The gratitude of the Heir to the Seelie Court is no small token to those who would involve themselves in our Court." 

 

Wes missed Angel's reply as he realized he and Linnea were essentially rearguard in a potentially hostile environment. Mindful of the protocol hazards of turning his back on a monarch, he slanted his body as much as possible and titled his head, trying to cover as much as he could with his peripheral vision. He was so intent on watching the now-still and much closer horde of courtiers that the groan from the Prince's feet startled him. 

 

The Prince chuckled, low and rich. "It is difficult to focus on matter at hand when one fears for one's physical form." He placed a jeweled slipper on his captive's back. "No one would dare break truce. Not with my invited guests. My honored friends. My allies. Even if they come tempted by Sidhe gold." He tossed a leather bag to them and Gunn caught it neatly.

 

His smile was icily perfect, and Wesley felt a moment of anxiety, but apparently voicing his concerns along with his puzzlement of the significance of buffalo wings to Angel had been sufficient to put him on his guard. As frustrating as Angel could be, he did take the safety of his people seriously. Angel responded, "We are honored to be your guests, though of course we could not claim to be representative of any group powerful enough to be useful allies to your honored aunt and her realm."

 

"My aunt has seen fit to begin the process of resignation, as we are not so wasteful as to require our monarchs to die, and thus cost the realm their wisdom and experience when they have grown tired of the machinations required of a sovereign." He reached across the space between them for her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

 

She nodded regally but her polite smile showed no warmth. 

 

"I thank you for your generous gift, but assure you that we come in the spirit of friendship, and not gain." Angel continued, "The Seelie Court is full of wonders, from highest lord to lowest pixie."

 

"And speaking of pawns," the prince nodded, and Wes felt Linnea twitch, "I must say I find your outfits quite appealing. Three warriors in a group of six. My own people would hardly dare to be so forthright. I doubt you'll find another set of armor like that tonight." He followed Angel's glance to the archer at his feet. "This one? Simply another pawn. Of no interest. But really, all of you Linnea's work is remarkable, especially her own." Wesley felt her slip her arm free as she sank to one knee, wingtips trailing behind her. "No, no, tailor, I'm not angry. In fact, I'm quite pleased to see you've been practicing on more martial aspects. I may have you do some of my household robes for coronation, as I believe they will have a military air."

 

She spoke quite clearly, though she directed her words to the grass at her feet. "Sorry boss, I won't be available. You might note her Majesty's files."

 

Disdain showed for a moment across the too-perfect face and he glanced archly to the side. The Queen waved languidly. "Your counselors are not ours, as you have said. Our decisions are not yours, as you have shown." She stared stonily over the edge of her mask.

 

Angel bowed again, drawing the Prince's attention. "Clearly you have no need of our professional services." 

 

Like throwing a switch, the Prince was all insincere charm again. "Ah, no, as you can see, I've proven that our defenses are strong, but I must insist that you stay. Share our hospitality. Be our friends. Any king needs friends with no thought of political maneuvering."

 

He waved a hand in casual dismissal, but Angel waited until Her Majesty raised an eyebrow, smiled and nodded, before he bowed and backed them out of the Royal Presence.

 

They'd reached the edge of the audience when Wesley noticed that it was rippling as courtiers shifted position. Unfortunately, Angel had strode ahead and they were closest to the disturbance. Linnea's hand tightened once more on his arm.

 

"Do you fear us so much, Little One?" Boyryxx asked as he strode forth through the crowd, fey courtiers drawing away from him, simultaneously leaving them alone and blocking Angel's return.

 

"I fear you exactly as much as I should." she replied.

 

"Your king," with a wry smile, he nodded toward the thrones and corrected himself, "your prince doesn't fear us."

 

"I am no prince," she responded.

 

"And you, wizardling?" the decaying corpse asked as he turned his attention to Wesley.

 

"I will fight you, with all the strength of my arm and the last breath in my body." 

 

"Yes, undoubtedly you will," and his smile drew the rotting flesh back from his teeth, exposing the musculature underneath. His gaze flicked higher. "As will your unbreathing cohort." Wesley could hear the click of Gunn's spurs to his right, knew that Angel would be standing to his left and slid a hand into his pocket. The demon dropped the smile. "But not tonight. I find the air has growth thick with intrigue. Farewell."

 

They stood while the corpse shambled off, and Fred brushed her arms. "Am I allowed to freak out now?" she asked and Gunn shuddered in sympathy as he slid his arm around her shoulders.


	7. Post Court Revel

Cordelia found Angel later at the bar, toying with a jeweled chalice. 

 

"Hey, we got free money! You don't look appropriately happy."

Angel pulled the bag from his belt and tossed it to her. "When you see it in the morning sun, you'll know why."

 

"Turns to leaves? I can read. Especially when the book is taking up my desk space and open to the right page." She added with a smile. "Do you suppose we could run it to the bank before dawn?"

 

"Do you really want our bank angrier with us than they usually are?"

 

"Yeah, you're right." She pulled a crystal goblet rimmed in emeralds toward her. "So this will turn into wood or something if I slip it in my purse? Not that I would or anything, just even generic diet cola would look good in this." She shrugged. "Oh well, another goodwill job. And food. Did you see the food? It's all beautiful, but I wanted a taste tester before I actually ate anything. The books say they eat flowers, which would be fine, if a little compost-y, but I wanted to avoid anything that the Hell guys would drool over." She paused, "And I really wish that I hadn't thought that, because now I'm seeing it and there was sashimi on the table and ugh…."

 

"C'mon," Angel replied, cocking his arm out for her to take his elbow. "I should be able to identify anything odd."

 

The wine was rich and dark, as like to the cheap reds she'd been drinking at various parties as a caramel was to a Hallowe'en lollipop. She took a second sip, then allowed herself a mouthful, luxuriating in sensation. She sighed, thinking that she missed this part of being wealthy: rich foods, mushroom caps swimming in butter, sour cream dotted with caviar on the ridiculous blintzes her mother loved so. She hadn't thought of those parties in months. That she could do so now with only a soft twinge of regret instead of heart-freezing despair was a testament to the healing power of time. Or perhaps her acceptance into her new role, as she'd said to Harmony so long ago. Or maybe it was just the wine. She took another mouthful. 

 

She looked up at Angel next to her, shortening his stride to hers, the ridiculous ostrich plume floating gaily over him, adding another several inches to his height. She'd rather expected him to dwarf the crowd, given Linnea's native stature, but the revelers she'd seen ranged in size from moth to oak. Maybe Tolkien saw this in a dream, because that's pretty much what she'd always thought an ent should look like. The wine was making her silly; for a moment she felt a flash of worry, then glanced up through glitter laden lashes to Angel, watching her with some concern. "Hey, if I can't get drunk when I have my very own royal bodyguard, when can I?" 

 

\---:::---

 

"Come on, let's sit down, you're weaving." As they passed the furthermost tables, he grabbed random bits of anything that looked protein or carb heavy, dropping them into a plate the size of a buckler.

 

She fluttered down on one of several blankets spread under the trees. For a moment she looked like a china doll, one of the Victorian pin cushions, a perfect form rising from a circle of rounded skirt. Then she smiled and her skirts settled around her and the moment passed. No one could hope to capture that radiant grin in porcelain; there was no chance that flush high on her cheekbones could ever be captured in paint. He settled himself at her side, remembering only after some awkwardness just how to adjust a sword belt to keep from impaling the ground or binding himself. She leaned against him for a moment, then straightened to sip again. He pulled a pastry wrapped something and poked her with it. 

 

She took a tentative bite, then with wide eyes finished that one and searched the plate for more. "Those are beautiful. Who expects them to be yummy, too?"

 

"You're complaining about a pretty package?"

 

"Hey, I'm special. Did you see the tables? Right, of course you did. God, I've been to parties and I've been to balls, and I've been to weddings in European castles, but this blows them all away. There are people in LA who would kill for that caterer."

 

"Yeah, it is spectacular. Nice to know that some things remain the same." She looked up from an egg cream and gestured for him to continue. "Parties bring out the showboat in people, no matter what species. I remember when the display of ostentatious wealth was grapes and orchids in Victorian winter. Now bananas are in the grocery stores year round. Do you know how strange that is? A hundred years ago a bunch of perfectly ripe bananas would be a centerpiece and the talk of the social whirl. Now it's breakfast for every toddler in town."

 

Cordy leaned back with laughter. "I can just imagine a caterer passing off bananas to Mom. God, she'd do these huge parties with Dad's clients. Every Christmas I'd get dressed up, always in red velvet, and be presented to all these strangers, like the queen. I loved it. I'd make the rounds, curtseying and all, then whoever the maid was that year and I would go back upstairs and play quiet games. I'd have all these exotic foods for snacks the next week. Pate Brioche for a five year old." She licked one finger delicately. "I haven't thought about those parties in forever. Fairy tale princess adored by strangers and then in my nightgown playing CandyLand and eating the ends of the bread and the broken cookies."

 

"Funny how people change." Angel murmured. 

 

She leaned into his arm, shoving the flintlock out of her ribs. "Yeah. But not in a ha ha way."

 

\---:::---

 

Gunn watched as Fred twirled, the butterflies on her skirt trying to take flight. The firelight should have bleached the color from everything, but instead it made everything brighter; somehow, the wings went from pastel to lifelike as her skirt's soft blue deepened to the hue of a late August sky. Her pale fingers flickered, clasped between his dark ones the way the firelight lit and shadowed the faces around them. He'd joined her in some of the circle dances, the ones that required a lot of stomping but no real complicated moves. She'd stayed for the pattern dances, catching on to the complicated patterns and rhythms that just looked like a swirl of people bowing and touching hands, or wingtips, or branch ends. The guns rode heavy and low on his hips, throwing his balance off, but he wasn't happy about the idea of ditching them. Fred was wearing his hat now; the rest of the time, he'd tipped it back to hang by the string around his neck, not used to the way the brim cut into his peripheral vision. Too many things here were taller than he was. He'd caught a couple of sidelong glances thrown their way, but nothing, or rather no one, had been anything but friendly. And the beer was incredible. He drained the last of the mug and set it carefully on the grass beside him as Fred stepped toward him, still swaying to the beat of the music. He patted the ground next to him.

 

"Ah no, I'd squish the butterflies. Besides, she'd kill me if I got grass stains on this. I've got to go find water anyway." she trailed off as he showed her the oversized goblet he'd gotten with his own beer. 

 

"It's water, but they've got mint or something in it. And if you sit on me, you won't get grass stains. The butterflies are shit out of luck." He grinned and tugged on her outstretched hand. She collapsed into his lap,

the few stray hairs that weren't plastered by sweat to her neck brushing against his face. He wrapped his arms around her waist as she clapped to the beat while an animated rose bush wearing a crown pogo-ed with a golden retriever in a Superman cape. Gunn brushed his lips against Fred's temple and joined the clapping. 

 

\---:::--- 

 

Wesley found her, eventually, sitting with her back to a tree that was too tall for its breadth. Like everything else here, it was subtly wrong. Nothing could be held out of context and defined as incorrect, but the parts didn't mesh into a cohesive whole. He sank to his knees beside her but said nothing.

 

"You do know you are playing with fire, don't you? She could have been really pissed. Instead of apathetic verging on amused. I force her heir to verify my open rebellion and she just waves it off." 

 

"I thought you might be happier as a free agent." 

 

"Happier? In exile? Yeah, maybe. Perhaps. I'm not leading a rebellion, you know." One finger traced the inlaid arabesques on her armor. "I'm not a warrior. No one would follow me." 

 

"Could it be that you won't have to be a leader? I suppose you could stay here, now that you are able to leave." 

 

"Yeah, I could, but I won't. I think. I just need to…" her hands fluttered over the grass. "Settle into the idea."

 

He gave her a moment to tease the flowers under her fingertips, and continued, "Apathetic? Was she really?"

 

"As in who gives a damn about one minor brownie breaking free of the leash and wandering the shadow world? Yeah, I'd say apathetic covers it."

 

"Yet your leaving weakens her court."

 

"I thought it would, but hey, I was wrong. Clearly I'm not the potential revolutionary I thought I was." She snorted with no amusement "Hey, I'm glad I was wrong, it's just kind of hard on the ol' ego, you know? But it's okay. She doesn't want to fight for me, I'm good with that, I am."

 

"I believe you are mistaken."

 

"Yeah, I just said I was, happy?" She rose from her slouch to her knees, looking down on him. "C'mon, I'm dry and haven't had nearly enough mead for a celebration of my exile… whoops, I meant emancipation, yet."

 

"Could it be that she's willing to sacrifice direct control of you in order to have you on the outside of her court and favorably inclined toward her in the years to come as she retires?"

 

"Bullshit, she'd have to treat me as an ally, then, and she's… not…"

 

Even backlit as she was, he could clearly see her face as she blinked twice, slowly. A heartbeat passed, then a second, then a feral grin lit her face as she looked absolutely predatory for a moment. The sharp edges of her smile softened into laughter as she rocked back onto her heels laughing and he rose onto one arm in preparation for standing. He was thus unbalanced and could certainly be excused his loss of composure as she tackled him and kissed him fiercely. 

 

\---:::---

 

The wings made a surprisingly comfortable pillow, which only partially compensated for how difficult they'd been to get off of her. Wesley traced the lower curve of her breast, fingertips trailing along "A scar? Why would you choose to keep a scar?"

 

"You complaining? Or wishing for Arwen ala the movie?" Linnea retorted.

 

"Heh, no, Liv Tyler's dubious virtue is quite safe from me and I've grown rather fond of this form in the last few days. I was merely surprised. The others are..." he fell silent, gesturing vaguely toward the edge of the ridge.

 

"Ethereal? Supernaturally beautiful?" She pulled away from him, sitting up and pulling her arms around her knees. "That's the point. I can't choose to live in the shadow world if I don't …"

 

"Live among us?" He curled around her and snaked one arm around her stomach. "you've made a good choice, at least. Attractive enough to be desirable, but not so much as to excite attention," he slid a palm over her breast and she leaned into his touch, dropping her hands to the grass beneath them, "a magnificent job, I must say. The freckles are a nice touch." He carefully kissed his way across her shoulders.

 

"The mark of an artist is in attention to detail."


	8. Sunrise

Eventually, they found Gunn arm wrestling a bogie and Fred deep in a philosophical discussion with a three foot badger on how mathematical theorems apply to magic. She left the conversation reluctantly, slightly stunned. "I think we just proved the existence of God." 

 

"Well, yeah, the PTB's and there were demons at court. You had doubts?"

 

"Not the supernatural world sweetie. The divine plan, like Carl Sagan postulating that pi ends in zero. …" she patted a pocket. "But I have his email, so we can work out the details and publish whenever we want."

 

"Um, publish where? I don't think MIT is going to accept your research partner without a couple of hits of acid."

 

"Oh, that's not a problem." Her face lost its distraction and lit up with its normal energy. "It's not who sees it, it's that it can be done." And she waved at Cordy and hurried forward toward the clearing they'd entered in.

 

"Yeah, something like that." Gunn followed her up the hill, tossing back the rest of his glass, coming within range of the cacophony of voices from the group of drunken singers around the pile of rugs near the end of the path. The ancient wooden keg stood on a steel tripod, but the two upended ones nearby gave the reason for the row of singers, seated around the bonfire, swaying heavily as they shouted, rather than sang, along with the violinist crosslegged on the stack of carpets. 

 

Wesley raised an elegant eyebrow at the chorus and Gunn chortled. "Gotta be elf music, man. I know songs about gangs, and songs about sex, but I can't see a song about 'Pukin' in the Heather.' Even on the country and western stations."

 

"Show's what you know, bucko. They are a mortal band, though not a hugely commercial one. Considering that you folk consider Britney Spears and various boy bands to be music, I really don't see that you are allowed an opinion on our music, anyway."

 

"I don't consider Britney Spears the culmination of music." Wesley objected.

 

"This from a man who came into the office two days ago singing, 'Go go Godzilla'?" Gunn shot back.

 

"Ah yes, well, actually, I'm not exactly sure those are actually the lyrics to that song. And besides, whoever does sing it, it's not Spears."

 

Cordy joined them, asking, "Who has spears? All I have is a sword. And it's starting to chafe."

 

Wesley waved her off as his watch beeped. "Where's Angel? We have fifteen minutes."

 

"Oh, he was standing second for a duel." Cordelia replied as she tugged at her hair ribbons.

 

"If it's a duel at dawn he's not going to be of much use," Gunn contributed.

 

"No, no, I think they just wanted him 'cause of the Three Musketeers thing," She replied. "I heard them start as I left. It was silly, so I came up to find you."

 

Wes frowned, "I'm surprised you've grown so callous. I realize that our mission has forced you to confront horrible things, but still, a being's life, lost in a game…"

 

She fixed him with a glare, "Weapon of choice was cans of spritz cheese, Wes."

 

"Ah." Linnea cut in, "that'll be Olwen's group then. I'll go fetch him. Don't wander, we need to leave soon."

 

"Yes, the sunlight."

 

"Yeah, that too" she called back at them. "Truce ends at dawn. We've got five factions within the court, representatives of Hell and two dimensions here. You picked your dance partner?"

 

"As a matter of fact, I have!" he shouted to her back but she merely flashed a wide grin over her shoulder and disappeared over the hill. Wes turned to face the others to find all three of them giving him looks of frank interest. He studiously ignored them all until the grey winged angel reappeared, Musketeer in tow. Once again, they joined hands but Wesley saw, as they started to shift, a small winged figure dash toward them frantically waving a dish towel.

 

Home again Home again, Jiggety jig 

 

Angel stood, still damp, pulling on the sweats he'd taken to wearing when it finally sank in that he was living over a place of business with coworkers who thought nothing of wandering about not minding certain vampires who had slept in the nude for centuries. Or standing in the lobby shouting at each other when he was in the shower. He hesitated until he actually heard his name before moving out onto the balcony overlooking the lobby.

 

"Oh look, it's Juliet" Linnea gestured and as Wesley looked up, she stepped around him back to her laptop case. Wes had dropped the robes, but was still wearing the striped Gryfinddor tie and maroon sweater. Linnea had shucked off the armor when they'd returned, piling it haphazardly into the small case as the others were likewise disassembling and going home into the dawn. She still had the black trews, tunic, and gambeson on, so she and Wesley must have started this fight just as Angel had gone into the shower. 

 

Linnea continued, "Good, you can help us settle a disagreement. Has Cordy had any vision showing me in any form, ever?"

 

"Um, no?"

 

Wesley snapped up at him "What is our mission?"

 

Angel smiled, on much firmer ground. "We help the hopeless." He replied, without a stumble.

 

She put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "You calling me hopeless?"

 

"Um, no?" He looked to Wesley for help, but Wes was too busy glaring as well and he resolved to not open his mouth again and sneak back upstairs as soon as he could. 

 

"The message was left here at the hotel. We should be involved."

"The message was for me. No you shouldn't."

 

"I told you…"

 

"No," Linnea shoved Wes' hand away from her shoulder. "My problem. My people."

 

"But if we can help…"

 

She sank to the cushions. "You won't," and as Wes bridled, she continued, "Stuff it. Think of it this way. You step into the room, they won't think 'Oh look, the brownie's boinking the Champion's lieutenant.' No, they'll think 'She's escalated this and found a Champion. Clearly this is more important that we thought. Maybe we better get some big bullies for our team.' And bam, before you know it, everybody's swinging sledgehammers and nobody remembers what the original question was."

 

"You've been brushing up on human politics," Wes said.

 

She flipped him the bird.

 

"Except for the sledgehammers part." Angel added.

 

She tilted her wrist to include the balcony.

 

Wes grabbed her hands and pulled her up into an embrace. "Do you have to go now?"

 

"Parley's at noon, I need to run some errands, make some calls first. And draft a will." She went on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Kidding, I'm kidding."

 

"Be careful."

 

"I was planning on being cowardly, but careful will have to do." She glanced up at him. "What, no impassioned entreaties?" She shoved down on the case and zipped it closed.

 

"Would it make a difference?"

 

"Would it help if I admitted I wish it would?" She hefted the case over her shoulder. "No news is good news. I'll try to call if I need help, but I'm thinking I've just been moved from tailor to player. And I'm fairly sure it's your fault." She smoothed his cheek with an open hand, "Hey, buck up. To my vast surprise, I'm a player with big guns of my own. Well, sort of. Friends with big guns." She held a hand over his mouth as he started to retort. "Friends with a direct interest. No allies. No strings. No lords or tradition. Just us. It's gonna be enough. I have to believe that." He nodded and she blew a kiss and shrank into a green will-o-the-wisp, flicking out the open window.

 

"Boinking?" And as Wesley repeated Linnea's gesture, Angel remembered his earlier resolution to sneak quietly away.


	9. Lammas - a kiss written in the Midsummer-verse

"Save your breath 'Thorn, she's asleep." Dormard shifted his ankle a little to ease Linnea to the grass and tied off the bandage around her skull.

"Lovely, she can irritate me even when unconscious. The child has so many skills."

"Thorn, anyone can irritate you at any time. Do you know when she last ate?" He traced the glittering edge of her lips, veering to wipe away a smudge, regretting it when the wound under it re-opened and sluggishly bled.

"Everything's about food with you, isn't it, dog?"

Dormard snarled, but he was waved down by the Lord Chamberlain.

"Both of you, please be still. Linnea is damaged, yes, but she will survive and we must discuss…"

"Injured, Prentis," Dormard snarled, his muzzle pulled back from his teeth, "The word used in relation to sentient beings is injured."

"You being the local expert on injury to sentient beings." Thorn mocked, nonchalantly leaning against her tree.

"When you are able to converse civilly, contact me; I've no desire to listen to your endless bickering." Prentis stepped into shadow and was gone.

Thorn slid within her bark with a shiver of silver-backed leaves, not deigning to answer.

Dormard slid his hand under Linnea's shoulders, curling her into one arm effortlessly. She'd be furious at him for that, at any hint of her self-perceived weakness, but he had no intent of leaving her unguarded while unconscious. Even the asphalt covered mudrealm wasn't enough distance between them and the battlefield that Fairie had become. Not now.

Dormard brushed the wisps of hair that had raveled themselves free of her braid away from her eyes and he rested his muzzle against her forehead in a kiss.


	10. Cornucopia - Midsummer 'verse.

"I'm quite sure there's a reason she's late," Giles muttered.

Willow, who'd given up on waiting patiently and was sprawled in the grassy vale between graves, answered, "Well, since Riley's out of town, normal reason number one is out. So she's avoiding one of us. Now whether it's the pokey thing in your hands or the textbooks in mine, that's anybody's guess." Xander snickered, but didn't argue.

Buffy stalked the length of the cemetery to join them. "Mom's gone." She said without lead in.

"Another gallery thing?"

"No, gone, as in kidnapped. Mom-napped. No sign of struggle and there were flowers in the kitchen, so I'm guessing they came in as florists and took her without a fuss. Left this on the roses, though," she waved a ragged strip of parchment around until Giles snatched it from her. "A ransom note that looks like a shopping list for Martha 'I've-come-out-of-the-closet-as-a-demon" Stewart. Minus the baby seal pelts."

"Baby seal pelts? What would … oh, never mind."

"I hate this." Buffy stomped in a little circle around Willow, who tried to curl her legs further under her without seeming to cringe. "I hate having big demon-y target markers on my house, like an X on a pirate map. I hate having a boyfriend whose fraternity road trips involve guns and third world dictators. I hate not being able to keep a manicure for more than twenty four hours. I hate having blood stains on every single cashmere item I own."

"Except the pink," Willow chirped. "Not blood."

"Ichor," Buffy's voice was flat. "And black wax if I remember correctly."

Xander added, "Probably a little salsa there too. I was cleaning that stuff out of my shoes for a week. "

Her righteous fury deflected, Buffy leaned against a convenient stone angel and sighed.

"I hear a disappointed Slayer. Is it too much to hope that it's because of me?"

Buffy didn't rise to the bait. "I've seen your grocery lists, Spike. Pig, cow, wishful thinking for human."

Giles added "Don't forget the Wheet-a-bix. I've still not forgiven you for that."

Spike flapped away any comment and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke at Willow.

"This isn't vampy. More like the grocery list for demon Atkins. Eyes and spleens but no carrots or lettuce. It's got to be spell components, right Giles?"

"I believe that is a valid assumption. The script is florid and the language archaic. So are some of the names. What's torn from the bottom?"

"Oh, this part, it's just an address and "one hour before dawn" because god forbid anyone should use a wristwatch but me."

"Hey you figure we could show up any old time as long as Dawnie arrives after us? "

"Do you know how many times I've heard a variant of that plan, Xander? From you, specifically?" Buffy turned back to Giles."I 've already hit the place. It's one of those old houses on the outskirts of town -- psuedo-Spanish villa pink walls and orangey brown tile on the roof with those funny pink flowers all over everything. It's empty."

"That's some whopper of a spell, but it's weird, that's a huge list of things that don't work well together." Willow said.

"How are you…are you reading through the back?"

"You've got that big ol' flashlight shining on it."

"Ah yes, the arrogance and eyesight of youth. As loathe as I am to encourage such behavior, we do have the benefit of time. Why don't we split into groups? I can take this back to the shop. We'll have some of these things there and we can get the others easily if we work in teams and that will give Buffy an advantage at the meeting at dawn."

"I'm not caving to them."

"Not at all, but going in offensively while simply endanger your mother."

"Oy, what's Joyce got to do with Martha Stewart's grocery list? Where's Niblet?"

"Dawn's at Janine's, probably surfing for pictures of Orlando Bloom on the Net. Mom's been taken. This is her ransom. How long were you lurking, anyway?"

"I came in at the salsa on cashmere bit. I may never eat a Mexican again. I was cleaning salsa out of the pockets of this thing for days."

"Shall we migrate to an area with proper lighting?" Giles gestured.

"And chairs," Willow said as she ineffectually brushed the seat of her skirt.

\--:::--- 

"Okay," Buffy heaved herself up on the counter, Giles' stern glare precluding her drumming her heels. "We've got about a third of the stuff here already. So that's to the good."

"Some of these are difficult, some are merely complex."

"Translation for the not-paying-that-much-attention crowd?"

"'Wax from a candle lit by the hand of a virgin'. A few years ago, this would be simple," Giles glared over the top of his glasses at them but no one seemed in any way abashed. "As opposed to difficult."

"Does the virgin have to be good? Because the kid who moved in next door lights candles all the time. He's evil, but he's a virgin, I bet and there's candles and firecrackers all over his room. Little jerk."

"That's my job, then, stealing candles from pyromaniac brats. I live to serve." Xander groaned.

Willow commented. "Wow, Giles, you weren't kidding on the archaic language. This last one -- I figured out why you couldn't get it. It's not an ingredient. Unless they want Tinkerbell's Pixie Dust. The declension isn't Aranoion, it's Fae, so it works out to Falling from the Heavens. I think it's a signature"

"That makes no sense." Xander frowned.

"Welcome to my world." Giles sighed and polished his glasses.

\---:::---

"Hey look, she even put little spaces for us to check off each item as we get it."

Spike glanced over. "Purple ink? Don't you think she's going this lesbian empowerment a bit gone?"

"She's always had purple pens." Xander folded the carefully written note and slid into his jacket pocket. "Can we hurry? We don't know when they'll get back."

"As loudly as that kid whines, we'll have more warning than we need." 

Xander tried to take a deep breath but jumped when the phone rang. Spike picked it up and said smoothly, "You have reached the Walker residence, at the sound of the tone, please leave a message" then hung up. Xander glared at him and he shrugged and said "What? you can answer it next time", continuing in a falsetto, " Juan's Pizza Palace and Taco Emporium, may I take your order?"

"You are so strange."

"I live to spread chaos. "

"You exist" Xander corrected with emphasis " to drink blood and aggravate us."

"That too. "

"Tell me again why I'm here with you? 

"Because I'm a big strong man who can pick locks and you are a skinny little prat who can say those three important words - 'Come on in'. I'd rather be collecting Argus eyes, but you don't hear me whining."

"Yes, I do."

"Yeah, well, I've got more reason to whine." They passed through the kitchen and Spike made a casual side trip to the refrigerator. 

"Hey, I'm every bit the conversational partner that Buffy is." 

"Was talking about Red. She's the one doing the work. Once they are asleep, little bugger's eyes are easy to pop out. Use a fingernail. Right tasty, too. Especially in scrambled eggs." Spike brushed aside a gallon of milk and a carton of apple juice, then closed the door with a sneer.

"You just said that to freak me out."

"Did it work?"

"C'mon Disgusto, the sooner we find this thing, the quicker we can stop invading the neighbor's privacy."

"No taste for home invasion?"

"That's more your line."

"Nice to know someone remembers I'm evil. " Spike smirked and gestured grandly at the door.

\---:::---

"Mallorn leaf? Where the hell am I supposed to get mallorn leaf in Southern California?" Giles tossed the copy of the ransom list Willow had given him to the counter and wiped grime from his hands. 

"Can it be in solution?." Anya set her clipboard on the boxes and pulled her hair out of the pony tail it was in. 

"Well, yes, I can certainly pull it out of … why?"

"There's a Starbuck's two blocks down." He gaped and she flipped her hair over her shoulder. "What?"

"Please tell me we aren't supplying them."

"Oh yeah, like they'd buy ingredients locally." She stared into space for a moment. "It'd be nice to have that contract, though."

"Why on earth would Starbuck's be procuring Mallorn leaf for their beverages?"

Tara spoke without looking up. "Mallorn leaf promotes a sense of general well being, is minimally addictive and tends to lower respiration and heart rate. Most often used in communication or linking spells because it…um…you weren't really asking, were you?"

He rubbed the spot between his eyes and looked tired, "Anya, which product?"

"The chai, of course. Hey, since you are going anyway, can you get me a caramel macciato?"

\---:::---

"Bodyguard. Sodding vampire playing bodyguard. I could go in as the big rescue, but no, bleedin' bodyguard. You two don't even have to be there. I can carry the damn groceries." Spike spat his cigarette onto the grass which swayed, from his point of view, above him. The vines that entangled him crept closer at his motion. "So much for not causing trouble, hang on," Spike kicked out, narrowly avoiding connecting the sole of his boot with Willow's nose, and bouncing against the wall. 

"You know, if you hold still, they don't get tighter," Willow offered.

"Yeah, thanks, pet, which is why you're still on the ground and I'm…" the rest of his sentence was obscured by the frantic rattling of leaves as he indulged in senseless thrashing. Willow looked up at Xander, eyebrows up. He'd been slower to still himself and was suspended above her. 

By the time Spike stopping flailing, only a corner of his coat drooped free, forlornly waving above a tuft of hair. He sighed as his lighter slipped out and followed the cigarette to the ground. "Okay, what's our Plan B?"

"Plan B? What was Plan A?" Xander responded, blowing a leaf away from his nose.

Spike's voice was muffled, but not his sarcasm. "Wait by the side of the house and not get caught in the kudzu from hell." 

"Oh, so that was Plan A. Nice to know we had one. " Xander said.

"And the back up plan is…" Spike growled when neither of them chimed in.

"Hey, we were lucky to have a frontman plan, a lead guitar kind of plan. Which you know, it wasn't really, cause that's too lame to be a plan." Willow exhaled slowly, using the slack thus afforded to slip a hand into her messenger bag.

"But normally our backup plan is to scream." Xander offered.

"And run away," Willow added helpfully.

Spike went limp, bobbing slightly in the moonlight.

Willow shivered, then stood, shaking off loose vines that seemed to dry as they watched.

"That's my girl." Spike's head snapped up, and Xander continued. "Big Bad, meet Plan B."

Willow curtseyed, incongruous in blue jeans and tennis shoes, and sprinkled salt around the base of Spike's vine which released him so suddenly that only vamp reflexes saved him from an undignified sprawl. 

\---:::---

Buffy vaulted onto the balcony of the second floor and silently drew aside the dusty lace curtain. Joyce looked up from the floor, a spread of oddly colored cards spread in front of her. "Hi sweetie. Ignore the cards, they were all I could find."

"Um, mom, they're naked."

"And I'm not sure that one is entirely human." Buffy glanced down at the King of Hearts and both Summers gave identical shudders.

"Are you hurt?" 

"No, not at all, I'm just stuck here. They've actually been very nice. The thorny one not so much, but the quiet sticky one brought food and let me go to the bathroom. Very civilized for kidnappers. Much better than last time. Should I be concerned that I have a last time to compare it with?"

"Let's not. Okay, first off, we need to get you out of here." She slid open the hall door to find the hall filled with vines. "Hang on, I know this villain from the Batman movie, right?"

"And you thought I wouldn't try that?" Joyce asked, a touch of hurt in her voice.

Buffy rolled her eyes, "We'll go out the window. You can't make it out the way I came in, but we can get into the center courtyard thingie."

"Atrium, dear."

"And are you trying to help or not?" Buffy tied off the rope to the bed frame and wedged it against the wall, double checking the rope. Then she lept, landing lightly and trying to not fret for slow minutes as her mother inched her way down the rope. They slid the glass door into the house open and could hear voices. Buffy pulled the short axe from its backstrap and hesitated, listening to the argument within.

"What was so bad? Let me think -- How about we start with kidnapping the Slayer's mother and go on from there? "

In response to Buffy's silent question, Joyce shrugged, but she made an exaggerated frown, eyes narrowed, at the reply.

"I thought … I think… we don't have strength, so we need weapons and I knew I couldn't get it, so…I was trying to help."

"Para, how did you survive the court?" The unknown voice sounded tired now, more than angry.

"To be honest, not very well." 

"All right, we'll play your bluff. Try to look intimidating. Maybe that'll do until Dormard gets here.

"Dormard's coming?"

"Thus establishing once again why you don't do the planning thing. "

"I just.."

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm uptight, I'm trying to herd the wind to take on the mountains of hell, and I come to get you and find you've kidnapped the Slayer's mother." Over the course of the sentence her voice had crawled from resigned back up the scale to angry. "You sit down, and try not to think. Or talk. I'm going to go release her, take her home, maybe bake her daughter some cookies in the hopes that she doesn't walk in and tear us all limb from fucking limb." The door slammed open and Buffy nearly fell onto a child sized figure in green tulle who stopped, frozen in mid-stomp, and stared at her with slightly luminous eyes. "Or not. Maybe I could just say howdy and we could go straight to the not tearing part." Buffy dropped to a knee as she shot her empty hand around the sprite's throat. With some difficulty, the small form continued, "I don't suppose we could all sit down for a cup of tea and a nice chat."

"Actually," the voice sounded from within what Buffy could now see was a kitchen, "we don't have any tea."

The sprite twisted in Buffy's hand and shouted back "I'm gonna sew your mouth shut." 

Buffy tightened her grip and leaned into the kitchen, dragging the smaller figure with her. "Okay, mom, who's who?"

Joyce pointed at an animated rose vine, what looked like an oak stump covered in black mud, and the tulle and lace clad captive in turn, "Thorny, sticky, and I don't know.

"Fine," she echoed her mother's pointing with the axe. "Shit list, okay, but on probation for hanging around with kidnappers, and you," With a toss, she released her captive who fluttered further into the room. "Everyone around the table. Hands, and uh, branches where I can see 'em."

She strode to the back door, opening it and calling into the dark. Xander and Willow walked in, followed by Spike, still shaking leaves off his coat.

"You can't threaten us," the rose bush blustered.

"Actually," the axe head vibrated into the table top and Willow shook her Morton's canister threateningly. Buffy smiled nastily, "We can."

"Para, just shut up. Now. " The childsized figure in tulle beat her head several slow times against her hands on the table."Or I'll smile and send you with His Highness on your own." A shimmer of light filled the doorway and Joyce slid behind Xander to move away from it. The sprite continued. "Oh good, Dormard, you're here. You missed the fun."

A voice, deeper than mountain roots, intoned, "Ah, let me guess. Para did something rash and you're trying to dig him out."

"Okay, now when you say it like that, it sounds so…"

Xander whispered to Joyce, "Tell me we don't bicker like that."

She patted his shoulder. "I do so hate lying to you." But his reply was drowned in a rumble of chuckling, a rockfall of quiet amusement. A shadow shape of purple black fur moved into the room, features slowly coalescing from formless fear to something vaguely canine with a sparkling intelligence. Spike picked up Willow bodily, pushing her behind him, and Buffy slid automatically into a defensive stance, slipping one hand under the axe head and shifting her feet for leaping. 

The smallest figure hopped off the stool and stepped between them waving wildly. "Hey, no, whoa. We are all friends here. See, everybody's smiling. Friends. Para smile." The rosebush quivered. "Slayer's mother, smile. Dormard, you stop smiling. You are scaring me." She pushed at him, shoving at his knees, "go stand by the sink, please. I'm trying to salvage and we are not going to play dominance games here." He paced to the far side of the room and leaned against the sink, arms crossed, head titled, looking uncannily like a child's rendering of Egyptian statuary.

Joyce whispered back to Xander. "That's a ten foot ceiling, isn't it?"

"Uh huh."

The newcomer glanced up at the ceiling and winked, slowly and directly, at Joyce.

Buffy spoke up. "Look, I'm tired. I'm fed up. My feet hurt and I can hear my new bubble bath calling me all the way across town. Are we throwing down, or are we leaving?"

"You've got remarkable hearing. What does bubble bath sound like?" 

"Dormard," the tiny figure spoke into her hands, "I love you, big guy, but I'm going to sew your mouth shut too." She looked up at Buffy again "Leaving. You were leaving, have a nice day. You never saw us. I don't even know who you are, right?"

Willow slung the duffel bag onto the table. "You know, we never could figure out what you needed that mix of stuff for. Some of it is poisonous when mixed and some agents counter effect one another."

The rose bush quivered again, but the sprite narrowed her eyes at it and it subsided. "There are components of several spells…Great! You did bring them!" She grabbed the bag and started rifling through it.

"Yeah, that was Plan B. Hey, we did have a Plan B! So there." Willow poked Spike in his chest, then turned her attention back to the table where the bag was emptied and various Ziplocs had been sorted into small piles. "Oh wow, add cinnamon and fire and you've got yourself a nice little shield spell there. I was working on it for Buffy, but…" her eyes flicked across the table. "That's a healing spell, and that's more armor, and that's a communication spell. You're going into danger."

"As a matter of fact," Dormard rumbled, "He's going into danger. They are choosing to help him. I'm standing back and laughing."

"I've got needle and thread right here with me," the sprite, now kneeling on the table, muttered. He didn't seem intimidated.

"What's that one?" Willow pointed.

"Boneset. No good for muscle injury or bruising but great for fractures."

"Oh, and you've got that one in the wrong pile. It's goes with the astor and lapis for a … "

The sprite held up one hand and Willow stopped speaking. "No, no offensive spells. Period."

"But … but," the rose bush whined.

"Para shut up. If they think you are a threat, they'll destroy you."

"I hate being laughed at." He moaned

"I'd think you'd be used to it by now." She snarled back.

"And if his Highness chooses to leave me with them?"

The bantering tone dropped. "Then you die in service to our queen."

Willow spun on her heel to face Buffy. "We should help. We should. Clearly they are going into battle and clearly they are expecting injuries and…"

"Clearly you've forgotten that they kidnapped my mother."

"We've apologized for that." The rose bush rustled hastily.

"Para, shut up or I'll hold you down while she sews your mouth shut." Buffy snarled. 

Dormard showed white fangs in a smile and the sprite grumbled, "I need to come up with a new threat. Hey, witchling, if you wanna help, just say so. Dormard just loves working with assistant chefs." He growled and she laughed. " And I owe you a batch of cookies at the least. How about breakfast, instead?" 

\---:::---

Bags and boxes and a few metal tins littered the table, a spilled cornucopia of gourmet spices over the trendy granite countertop.

"You got all that in one stop?" Buffy asked.

"We took him to World Market." Willow responded.

"I'd have thought you'd go to the place off Main."

"Too pricey."

"Will, you were breaking in, at three in the morning, with a … well… him. No receipt. And I guarantee those security camera tapes will never see the light of day."

"Well, I didn't think about it that way. Besides, I like World Market; the other place is too intimidating. "

"Somehow I don't think it would have been to him. "

Dormard chuckled to the small figure in tulle. "It was marvelous, a mage's storeroom, neatly labeled and boxed, wrapped for freshness and" Dormard sighed happily, "Alphabetized. Nigh orgasmic"

"You're serious, aren't you?" the sprite looked up from her improvised still.

"And when he says nigh orgasmic, he means it. And that look on a nine foot Rottweiler will never make the porn circuit." Xander looked around at various appalled faces and Spike's delighted grin. "Not that I would know."


End file.
